Train wreck
by groovymumma
Summary: Will Darcy is a serious actor who wishes women would leave him alone. Bess Bennet has come to London to study, and certainly doesn't have time for romance. He looks down on upstart Australians and she's a reverse snob. An accident and a matchmaking best friend bring them together, but will they hit it off or just really, really detest each other? Modern P&P, HEA eventually.
1. Chapter 1

'Can I answer your phone, Mummy?'

'Who's calling?'

'It's Uncle Will'.

'Sure darling, go ahead,' Emma Bingley called from her dressing room. She was trying to choose the perfect outfit for lunch with some visiting studio execs. It was April, and not warm enough for a floral dress, but a skirt suit seemed too stuffy.

Freya, her daughter, wandered in a few moments later, chatting on Emma's mobile. Her curls bobbed with excitement as she related her seven-year-old concerns to her favourite honorary Uncle.

'And then James Fraser tripped me up and tried to kiss me, but I told him to stop it 'cause I didn't like it.'

Emma couldn't hear Will's reply, but it made Freya double up giggling.

'You're right Uncle Will, he is a big fat poo head.'

'Freya...' she warned.

'But Uncle Will said it first, Mummy. And James Fraser is a poo head, you know he is'.

Emma rolled her eyes and held out her hand for the phone. Freya pouted but handed it over.

'Hi Will, what's up?' Emma asked, cradling the phone on one shoulder so that she could keep flipping through outfits.

'Why would anything be up? Can't I just call to talk to my best friend?'

Emma sighed. 'You can, but you never do. You hate the telephone. So, what do you need?'

'Well, actually, I was wondering if you'd like to come to the premiere of my new film next Saturday night?' he asked in his most charming voice.

'As your plus one?' she asked suspiciously.

'Well, yes, as my plus one.'

'Red carpet?'

'Of course, red carpet. It _is_ a premiere.' Will could be so condescending sometimes. Emma wondered whether he was even aware of it.

'Will, it's bad enough having to frock up for my own premieres without attending yours as well.'

'It's in Leicester Square, just down the road from your house,' he wheedled.

'That is not just down the road from my house. It's at least twenty minutes from Notting Hill in good traffic. Plus, it would take me hours to get ready. It's okay for you men, you just put on a tuxedo and you're good to go. We women have to do hair, makeup, spanx, Hollywood tape, stick on bras…'

'Okay, okay, spare me the gory details,' Will protested, laughing.

'Why don't you take a co-star?'

'It's a World War Two film, Emma. They're all men.'

'Hang on a sec, Will.'

Emma put the phone down on a shelf and removed her daughter's hand from the sequined evening gown on loan from a major fashion house. 'Why don't you find me some pearl earrings I can wear to lunch, love?'

Freya looked up in delight. 'I'm allowed to open your jewellery case?'

'I know you can be careful when you want to be', Emma told her, smiling down into her excited face.

Freya safely occupied for the next few minutes, Emma returned to her phone call.

'Sorry about that, Will. Look, surely the studio can find you some nice starlet to take, can't they?'

Will groaned. 'I'm sure they could, but then the girl would think we were an item.'

'Not every woman wants to date you, Will,' she replied firmly. One of her self-appointed tasks was to keep his ego within manageable proportions.

'Yes, they do, Emma.'

'Will!' she protested. 'Be careful, your consequence is showing.'

He laughed ruefully. 'Okay, maybe they don't want to date me, but they do want to date my reputation. I'm their best shot at five minutes of fame.'

'Oh Will, one day you'll find a girl who can see past all that.' She wished she could seem him as happily settled as she was. His instinctive distrust of any woman who showed the slightest interest in him made that unlikely, she knew.

'Fat 'effin chance,' he grumbled. 'Look, are you coming or not?'

'Okay, I'll come if you really need me. But you owe me one, Will Darcy.'

'Thanks Emma. You're the best friend a guy could have'.

* * *

Bess stood on the platform at Baker Street tube station, waiting for the train. The giant Sherlock Homes profile on the tiled wall opposite made her smile - it was so quintessentially British. She knew that smiling on public transport here was simply not done, but it was hard not to sometimes. She'd been in London for almost a week now, and she adored it. Everything was new, and yet so familiar from countless books, TV shows and films.

Bess was doing her best to blend in and not gape at everything like a country cousin visiting the big city. She'd ditched her fold out map after the first day, not wanting to look like a tourist. She'd learned to stand on the left on the escalators, or walk on the right if she was in a hurry. She knew to move to the end of the platform to avoid the most crowded carriages, but she could also jam her way on to an impossibly full peak hour train if need be. She was learning the art of maintaining personal space even when pressed up against complete strangers: headphones in, book or phone in front of face, absolutely no eye contact.

Of course, as soon as she opened her mouth people knew she wasn't a local, but they didn't seem too interested. Australians were two a penny in London, as well as Kiwis and South Africans, and most Londoners seemed to think they were all interchangeable colonials anyway. That suited Bess just fine. The freedom that came from being completely alone was exhilarating. She could go anywhere, do anything, with no one waiting for her at home. She wondered who she would turn out to be, without the press of other people's needs all around her. This was her year to find out.

The evening rush hour hadn't started yet, and she had the end of the platform to herself, until a little girl in a red coat came along, walking carefully along the yellow line separating the edge of the platform from the tracks. The girl held her arms out wide and pointed her toes, as though on a balance beam. It didn't seem like the safest idea to Bess. She looked around to see who the child belonged to, but no one was paying any attention to her.

Bess had just made her mind up to say something when the girl wobbled, teetered for a second and fell down onto the tracks.

'Help!' yelled Bess, dropping her bag and running forward to kneel on the edge of the platform. 'Somebody help!'

The girl was lying crumpled on her side in between the platform and the near rail of the tracks. Her dark curls had fallen across her pale face, and she wasn't moving. Were the tracks electrified? Bess had no idea.

'Are you okay? Can you reach my hand?' Bess called, leaning down and reaching out as far as she could. The girl stirred, turning her head and blinking up at Bess. 'C'mon, give me your hand and I'll pull you up.'

Bess felt the rush of air from the tunnel on her cheek a second before she heard the rumble of the train. 'Move!' she screamed, straining towards the child. She still couldn't reach. 'You have to move now!'

It was no use. She didn't know if the girl was concussed, electrocuted or what, but she wasn't moving.

'Help us!' Bess screamed again, dropping down from the platform and landing next to the girl. Avoiding the rail, she snatched the child up in her arms. She was heavier than she looked, and frighteningly limp. A small crowd had gathered in response to her screams and people were reaching out to take the girl. The rush of air was growing stronger, and as Bess looked into the tunnel, she saw the train's headlights coming around the bend. They weren't going to make it. If she passed the girl to the people on the platform, she herself would be crushed under the train.

Every nerve ending in her body seemed to be firing at once. With a strength borne of terror, she leapt for the platform, still clutching the girl to her chest. Eager hands reached out to help, and Bess felt her tights tear against the concrete edge as they were dragged upwards. The lights of the train were so dazzlingly close now that she could barely see, but she could hear the squeal of brakes and the blare of the horn. They were going to make it! They were …

The edge of train slammed into Bess's shoulder, knocking all the breath from her lungs. She was flying away from the crowd of people, her body wrapped tightly around the child, and then they were falling back to earth, skidding along the platform with Bess under most. Her back was on fire, the skin tearing as they slid, and someone was screaming, it might be her or the girl or a woman on the platform, she could no longer tell. Her head hit something solid, everything flashed white for an instant, then went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who left a review. I know I'm not a quick updater, but they really keep me motivated. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Poor Bess, she really isn't having a good week._

* * *

Bess groaned. She was lying on her front on some kind of mattress. A thin sheet was covering her, and she hurt all over. Her head was turned to the side, her cheek resting on a cool pillow. The light was bright against her closed eyelids.

'Elizabeth? Elizabeth, can you hear me?' asked an anxious voice.

'Bess', she mumbled back. 'Everyone calls me Bess'. Her mouth was dry and it was hard to get the words out.

'Can you open your eyes, Bess?'

Bess sighed. She didn't want to, but the voice seemed really concerned. Maybe she should make the effort.

She cracked open one eyelid. The sunlight was like a blow to her already pounding head. 'Too bright', she winced, closing her eyes again.

Footsteps hurried across the room, and she heard the curtains being drawn. The footsteps returned, and a gentle hand touched her cheek. 'Is that better?'

'Much better, thanks'. She risked opening her eyes again. The light was much dimmer now, and she could make out the features of the person sitting next to her bed. The woman had wavy brown hair and strikingly attractive features. Her smile was warm and her eyes full of concern. Bess said the first thing that came into her head.

'You look like Emma Bingley.'

The woman smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners. 'It's funny you should say that..'

'Excuse me, but where am I?' interrupted Bess, becoming more aware of her surroundings.

The woman who looked like Emma Bingley stopped smiling. 'You're at St Mary's Hospital. There was an accident. Don't you remember?'

'An accident?' asked Bess, searching her memory. Her mind was sluggish and fuzzy, but she dredged up an impression of a tunnel, with something rushing towards her. A train? Why was she standing in front of a train?

'There was a little girl!' gasped Bess, horrified. She tried to push herself up, away from the pillow, but the pain in her back made her cry out and fall back down. 'Oh my God, is she okay? Did she make it?'

'She's fine, completely fine'. The Emma lookalike had tears in her eyes as she grasped Bess' arm. 'Please don't injure yourself any more'.

'Are you sure she's fine?' asked Bess.

'Yes, I'm sure', said the woman emphatically. 'She had a slight concussion from hitting her head on the rail, so they kept her in overnight for observation, but she was discharged this morning. I'll have to get back to her soon, but I persuaded the nurses to let me sit with you for a few minutes.'

Bess struggled to make sense of the words. This woman wasn't a nurse? The hammering in her head was growing worse, making it hard to concentrate. 'What's wrong with me?'

'I've upset you, when they told me not to, I should get the nurse…'

Bess turned her arm over and seized the woman's hand before she could pull away. 'Please, just tell me. I'd rather know the worst'.

The woman was crying now, but Bess didn't have the energy to comfort her.

'I don't know exactly what's wrong. They wouldn't share the details with me because I'm not a relative. I do know you were in surgery last night though, because I tried to see you.'

'I had surgery?' Bess' breath was coming faster, making her ribs hurt. 'I don't remember anything after the train. Why don't I remember?'

'From what the police said, it sounds as though you hit your head on the platform, after…' The woman broke off.

 _Police? There were police?_ Nothing made much sense to Bess, and she was too tired and sore to try to understand. She released the woman's hand and let herself drift away.

* * *

The next time Bess woke up, there was a tall man in a shirt and tie, with a stethoscope around his neck, standing by her bed. _Okay, this made a bit more sense_.

'Are you a doctor?' she asked.

He looked up from the clipboard he was reading. 'Yes, I'm Doctor Graves. How are you feeling?'

Bess snorted. 'Doctor _Graves_? That's a bit unfortunate, isn't it?'

The man shrugged. 'Not much I can do about my surname, I'm afraid'.

'Sorry, I guess you get that all the time,' Bess apologised. 'There was a Doctor Death at the hospital where my Mum was, if that makes you feel better. Although he pronounced it _Deeth_ '.

The doctor laughed. _Oh good, he wasn't offended_. 'How are you feeling, Bess?'

'Thirsty'.

There was a plastic jug with water on the bedside table. The doctor poured some water into a glass, added a straw, and brought it over to Bess. It was a bit hard to drink lying on her stomach, but she managed about half a glass.

'Thank you', she said when she was done. 'Now, can you tell me what's wrong with me?'

'Sure,' he said. 'Is it okay if I examine you while we talk?'

Bess agreed, and he started checking her over. He talked through her injuries while he worked. Apparently, she had a concussion, a fractured left shoulder blade and several cracked ribs. She would need a sling for a few weeks, but no plaster cast.

'It could have been much worse. The train was already slowing to enter the station, and it only struck you a glancing blow on the back of the shoulder,' he explained as he took her pulse.

'Why was I in surgery, then?' asked Bess.

'Ah,' he said, releasing her wrist. 'That's the tricky bit.'

 _Tricky bit?_ Bess' stomach dropped. _What did that mean?_

He looked down at the clipboard again. 'You had extensive lacerations to the skin on your back, most likely from skidding across the platform. The plastic surgeon sutured them all back together, but they'll take a while to heal, and you'll need to do some rehab to ensure you retain the full range of motion in your back and arms. There will be scarring, although it will fade in time', he finished.

Bess started to shiver. She was very cold all of a sudden. The Doctor fetched a thin cotton blanket from a cupboard and laid it carefully over her. 'Try not to worry too much. You will make a full recovery.'

'I know,' said Bess, holding back tears. 'It's just a lot to take in.'

'Is there someone we could call to come and sit with you?' he asked, concerned. 'We found your sister's name in your passport and called her, but she didn't think she'd be able to fly over.'

'No, she's got a baby and a toddler, she wouldn't fly all the way from Australia for something like this', Bess agreed. 'I hope you didn't make her panic. We don't have a good history with hospitals in our family'.

'She was pretty worried to start with, but I think I was able to reassure her. She'd like to hear from you though.'

'Okay, I'll call her when we're done', sighed Bess, although an emotional phone call was the last think she felt like.

'The paramedics brought your bag in with you,' the doctor explained, 'and the nurse put your phone on charge. Can you reach it?'

Gingerly, she reached out her right arm towards the bedside table. The pain in her back made her sweat, but she managed to touch the phone.

'That's great. Try not to move too much for the next day or two. After that we'll get you up and walking. I've tied the call button to your bed, so you can push it for anything you need.'

Bess just nodded. The shivering was settling down, and she could feel herself drifting off again.

'I'll let you rest,' said the doctor. 'Don't forget to call your sister. Oh, and Emma Bingley keeps 'phoning to ask when she can visit you again.'

Bess' eyes flew open. 'You mean that woman really _was_ Emma Bingley?'

Doctor Graves smiled. 'She was. The girl you rescued was her daughter, Freya. You're a hero'.

Bess shook her head. She wasn't a hero. There hadn't been time to think, and she certainly hadn't meant to wind up in hospital like this. She sighed. 'I guess she can visit in a day or two, when I'm feeling a bit better.'

* * *

'It's okay, I understand, there's no need to apologise,' Bess babbled. She needed to get off the phone _now_ , before she burst into tears.

'I really am sorry,' the woman repeated. 'If we could hold the job open for you for a couple more weeks we would, but we need someone now. I hope you get better soon.'

'Thanks, bye' said Bess, ending the call. Oh God, what was she going to _do_? She'd lined up the job with the Greenwich pub before she left Australia. It didn't pay much, and the hours were long, but it came with room and board. Now she had very little money, and nowhere to live, until she started her Masters degree in September. She didn't want to go back to Australia, and doubted she'd be cleared to fly anyway.

She'd learned from experience not to panic. When things got really bad, she knew how to work out the next thing that needed to be done and do that, without looking too much further ahead. Only now, she didn't even know what the next thing was. She turned her head into her pillow and let the tears come.

A nurse touched her shoulder a few minutes later. 'What is it, Bess. Is the pain getting too bad? Do you need some more medication?'

Bess swallowed her sobs and turned her head. 'No, it's not that, I've just had some bad news.' She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'I'll be fine, just give me a minute,' she sniffed.

The nurse frowned. 'I'd let you be, only Emma Bingley's here with her daughter. They'd like to visit you.'

Bess groaned. That was the last thing she needed. _Oh well, may as well get it over with_.

'Can you help me freshen up, and sit up?'

'Of course I can,' the nurse smiled encouragingly. 'I'll fix your hair, and we'll bathe your eyes, and no one will know you've been crying'.

Five minutes later, Bess was sitting up in bed, her legs crossed, ready to receive her visitors. She'd found she could maintain this position for about half an hour, so long as she was careful not to rest her back against the raised head of the bed.

Emma Bingley came in, her arms full of shopping bags from Fortnum & Mason. Her daughter followed behind her, nervously clutching her mother's coat with one hand and an old teddy with the other. _The girl from the platform_. Bess took a deep breath. _I can do this_.

She smiled brightly at the girl. 'Hi, I'm Bess. You must be Freya. Won't you come in?'

The girl nodded but didn't speak. Today her hair was pulled back in two bunches and tied with green ribbons. Bess couldn't see any injuries, but she looked scared. She climbed up into the first visitor's chair and clutched her teddy tightly to her chest. She stared at Bess with big, round eyes.

'Bess, I'm Emma' said her mum, setting the bags down on the wheelie table Bess used to eat her meals. 'I'm so sorry I didn't introduce myself properly the other day, but it was all a little confused…'

'It's fine, don't worry about it', said Bess quickly. 'Won't you sit down?' she said, indicating the second chair.

'I'll just unpack these first', said Emma, starting to pull all manner of food out of the bags.

Bess watched in amazement as the pile of chocolates, pastries, fruits, jams and groceries grew. 'Did you buy the whole shop?'

Emma grinned ruefully. Her face was so expressive, no wonder she was a star. 'My husband would probably say so, but it's only a few small things. Hospital food can be so dire, and I didn't know whether you had anyone to shop for you.'

'Thank you, it's very kind of you.' She reached out for the nearest jar. 'They sell Vegemite at Fortnum & Mason?'

'No, I had to go to Tesco's for that one,' Emma laughed. 'I though you might be homesick'.

'What's it like?' Freya asked shyly, speaking for the first time.

Bess thought for a minute. 'It's like Marmite, but saltier. Would you like to try some?'

'I don't know', said Freya, eyeing her warily. 'How do you eat it?'

'I can eat it straight out of the jar on a spoon', said Bess, 'but that's because I've been eating it my whole life. If you've never tried it before, you should start with a thin scrape on some buttered toast.'

'Maybe later', said Freya. She looked down at her teddy and then back up at Bess. 'Are you hurt very badly?'

'Not too badly at all', said Bess. 'Just a few dents and scrapes. I'll be as good as new soon'.

Freya's face scrunched up and she started to cry. 'I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have played gymnast in the tube station'.

 _Oh shit_ , thought Bess. _This is going well_. She looked to Emma for guidance, but she seemed almost as stricken as her daughter.

'Don't cry, pumpkin,' said Bess. 'It wasn't anyone's fault, it was just an accident. And we're both fine now, so there's no need to be sad'.

More wails from Freya. 'Would you like a hug?' asked Bess desperately.

Freya nodded and crawled onto the bed. She buried her head in Bess' lap and Bess put her arms around her as best she could.

'I think she's just relieved to see that you're okay', explained Emma with a tremor in her voice. 'We both are.'

Bess let Freya cry while she patted her back and murmured encouraging words. Five minutes was enough, though. Her life was turning into a soap opera and she needed to get a grip.

'Hey Freya, don't cry anymore', she said. 'It's not everyone who can survive a close encounter with a train. Just think what all your friends at school will say.'

Freya raised a tearstained face to look at her.

'You can tell them that you're Super Girl and I'm Wonder Woman.' Freya stopped crying and wiped at her snotty nose. Her mum passed her a tissue.

'That's better', said Bess. 'Now why don't you open one of those delicious boxes of chocolates your Mum brought, and we can eat the best ones before the nurses get to them?' Freya giggled and hopped down.

While Freya was occupied with the chocolates, Emma moved closer and perched on the edge of the bed. 'How are you, really?' she asked in a low voice.

'Much better', said Bess. 'I even managed a short shuffle up and down the corridor this morning'.

'I'm so glad', said Emma. 'We've been so worried about you. Do you have any family or friends in England?'

'No, I've only been here a week and a bit, but I'm fine, really'.

Emma frowned. 'The hospital said that your sister couldn't fly over, but what about your parents? Are they coming?'

'No, they can't come either, I'm afraid.'

Emma put her hand over Bess'. 'Is money an issue? Because I'd be more than happy to pay for the plane tickets. We're so very grateful…'

Bess cut her off. 'You're very kind, but it's not the money. My parents passed away'.

'I'm so sorry!' Emma looked stricken, and Bess sighed. She was yet to find a way to drop that fact into a conversation that didn't cause people to freak out.

'Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. It's just one of those things.' She looked over at Freya, who fortunately was too absorbed in the chocolates to be paying attention to the conversation.

'Hey Freya, have you found the peppermint creams yet? I hope you haven't eaten them all!' she called.

Freya looked from the chart in the lid to the chocolates, her face screwed up in concentration. 'I think they're the dark ones with the three stripes'. She held the box out to Bess, who took one and popped in into her mouth.

'Ew, rum and raisin' she said, spitting it out and making Freya laugh at her exaggerated grimace. 'We'll just have to try again'.

The chocolate box was half empty, and Bess' back was killing her by the time her visitors rose to leave. They'd kept the conversation light in deference to Freya, and she seemed fine now, although Emma kept shooting worried glances at Bess.

At the last second, Emma turned back to Bess and pressed a piece of paper into her hand. 'Here's my private phone number. If there's anything we can do, anything at all, please don't hesitate to call. Freya is everything to us, and we're so grateful to you. If you need help in any way, if we can repay you, just call'.

'Thanks,' said Bess, 'but I really am fine'.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks so much for the reviews. Your encouragement really keeps me writing! I also appreciate the people who ask about details I hadn't considered, or suggest new ideas. It's fun to try and incorporate some of them in the next chapter. So here it is…_

* * *

'Gone?' cried Emma. 'How can she be gone?'

Dr Graves sighed. 'I discharged her this morning. She's making a good recovery, there was no medical reason to keep her any longer.'

'But it's a Sunday. What are you even doing here?'

Dr Graves rubbed the back of his neck. 'I'm the senior registrar on the ward. I practically live here. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to see to.' He turned away and started to walk down the corridor.

Emma dropped the bag of toiletries and pyjamas she was carrying and ran after him, catching the sleeve of his white coat.

'Wait, please don't go just yet. You must have an address for her. Can you at least tell me where she's gone?'

Dr Graves stopped walking and turned back to her. He was starting to look annoyed. 'Look, I know you're famous and all that, but you're not a relative. I can't give out personal patient information. It would be more than my job's worth to tell you her address.'

Emma examined the doctor more closely. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was standing on end and there were dark circles under his eyes. No wonder he was grumpy. Still, underneath the tiredness she thought he had kind eyes. She tried one last time.

'I understand, I don't want to get you into any trouble. But, aren't you worried about her too? Even if she is well enough to leave hospital, surely she's not recovered enough to manage all on her own? She told me herself she doesn't have any friends or family here.'

The doctor checked behind him, but they were all alone in the corridor. He lowered his voice as he continued. 'You're right, I am concerned about her. But she'll be back here on Tuesday to get the dressing on her sutures changed. You did _not_ hear that from me.'

'I promise I'll be discreet.' Emma decided she could push her luck a little further. 'What time is her appointment?' She gave him her most dazzling smile.

He threw up his hands in surrender. 'My God, you're persistent. Outpatients clinic is between one and two. But you can't come to the waiting room.' The phone in his coat pocket buzzed and he pulled it out to glance at the screen. 'I have to go'. He jogged away down the corridor.

'Thank you!' Emma called after him. 'I really appreciate it'.

He only shook his head in reply.

* * *

'Remind me again why we're doing this?' asked Will sarcastically. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Emma's BMW, which was illegally parked outside the main entrance to St Mary's Hospital. She was in the driver's seat.

'Because she saved Freya's life!' replied Emma indignantly.

'For which you have already thanked her,' Will pointed out. 'You visited her twice. She has your phone number. Don't you think she'd call if she wanted to see you again?'

Emma glared at him. 'I had no idea she was all alone until I visited on Thursday. I had rehearsals all day Friday, and then I spent Saturday getting ready for your stupid premiere, which by the way was the absolute last thing I felt like doing after the week we've had…'

Darcy threw up his hands in defence. 'I do appreciate it, Emma…'

She kept talking over the top of him '… and then when I came back on Sunday to make arrangements to look after her, she was gone. What if she's too proud, or too scared, to ask for help?'

'Okay, okay, I understand all of that,' Will soothed, 'but I still don't understand why you want me to stalk the girl. Why don't you just talk to her?'

'Because she'll probably just tell me she's fine, and doesn't need anything, which is _not_ true. She doesn't know you, so you're the best person to follow her and find out where she lives.'

Will crossed his arms and let his head fall back against the headrest. How Emma always managed to talk him into joining her mad schemes, he didn't know. He was wearing his 'incognito' outfit of a baseball cap, large aviator sunglasses and a chunky bomber jacket. When Emma had picked him up earlier, she teased that he only needed a bum bag and a camera to pass for a middle-aged American tourist. He knew he looked like an idiot, but with his trademark black hair and piercing blue eyes covered up, most people wouldn't recognise him. He couldn't do anything to disguise his height, but he wasn't the only tall man in London.

'Okay, tell me your bunny boiler plan again'.

Emma ignored the jibe. 'I'll point her out to you when she goes into the hospital. Then you hang around the front door until she comes back out and follow her to see where she goes. It's easy!'

'Easy for you to say, you mean,' grumbled Will. 'What if she gets in a taxi or someone picks her up?'

Emma smiled. 'Then you get in the next taxi and say "follow that car!"'

'Emma, you're not directing a film. I don't think that actually works in real life.'

Emma leaned over and patted him condescendingly on the arm. 'Don't fret, Will. You can do this. I have faith in you.'

* * *

Will was sick of waiting. _How long did it take to change a few bandages?_ Emma had excitedly pointed Bess out as she entered the hospital, but it was almost an hour later and the girl still hadn't re-emerged. At least it was a sunny day, not grey and miserable as London often was. The wind was a bit fresh though. He dug his hands into his pockets.

He hated standing around it public, it made him uncomfortable. So far no-one had recognised him, but it only needed one person to and then they'd all be filming him on their phones and asking for selfies and autographs.

He was just pulling out his own phone to call Emma and complain when the girl came out through the glass sliding doors. He was confident he had the right person, as her left arm was in a sling. She was tall for a woman, although not even close to his own six foot three inches. She had shoulder length, honey blonde hair and lightly tanned skin. _How Australian_ , he thought. He couldn't see her eyes, as she was wearing sunglasses. She was dressed in jeans and a loose white shirt. The outfit didn't look warm enough for the breezy April day, but perhaps she had trouble getting a jacket over the sling.

She started walking towards Chapel Street, and he hurried to catch up. He kept a few people between them as they walked, but he didn't want to get too far behind in case she turned off and he missed her. He'd shot a scene like this once for a film, but it was harder to follow someone unobtrusively in real life.

The girl didn't look back once, though. The sling, and her long hair blowing in the wind, made her easy to pick out from the crowds as she crossed the road in front of Marks & Spencers. She paused for a minute in front of the entrance to the Edgware Road station.

 _Was she really going to catch the tube?_ It was only a week since the accident.

Apparently not. The girl shuddered, shook her head slightly, and continued down the road away from the entrance.

He trailed her down Marylebone Road for about a mile and half. She didn't pause to look into any of the shop windows, but kept trudging doggedly ahead. By the time they reached Regent's Park, her steps had slowed significantly and she was clutching at her side.

He was trying to decide whether to approach her when she turned into a large cream columned building on Park Crescent. He read the sign above the door. _International Students House_. He hoped this was her final destination. He didn't like this tailing business, and frankly, the girl didn't look as though she could walk much further. _Why hadn't she called a taxi?_

He waited for a few minutes to make sure she didn't come out again, before entering himself.

The man at the front desk stopped him.

'I'm sorry sir, but the dormitory rooms are closed between ten and five.'

'But Bess just came in here, I saw her'. He thought he might get further if he used the girl's name.

The man's face cleared. 'Have you come for Bess? We made an exception to the rule for her, but this really isn't an appropriate place for her to recuperate. We're a youth hostel, not a hospital, and we can't be held liable if she takes a turn for the worse.'

What to say to that? 'Uh, my friend, Emma is going visit her and make arrangements. She's a friend of the family'. That was only half a lie. 'I'll just call her now'.

Emma was thrilled by his progress report and promised to join him as soon as she had picked Freya up from school and dropped her at a friend's house. He waited for her in a cafe around the corner, toying with his coffee and keeping his head down. _What a waste of a day_.

They went back to the hostel together. The man at the desk did a double take when he recognised Emma. He was almost falling over himself in his eagerness to direct them to Bess' room on the second floor.

The room was bright and clean, but spartan. There were four twin bunk beds, and Bess was lying on her stomach on one of the bottom bunks. Her sling lay discarded next to her on the floor, along with a bottle of water and a packet of digestive biscuits. She had kicked off her shoes, but she was still wearing the same clothes, and there was blood on the back of her shirt.

Emma gasped and knelt down next to her. She touched Bess gently on her uninjured shoulder.

'Bess, wake up!'

The girl opened her eyes, and rubbed them with her good hand.

'Emma? What on earth are you doing here?' she asked blearily. She struggled to sit up.

'Bess, you're bleeding!' Emma sounded horrified.

'I am?' The girl tried to turn her head to see her back, but apparently gave it up as a bad job.

'The sling rubs on the stitches a bit,' she explained. 'It doesn't matter.'

'It most certainly does matter.' Emma was getting fired up now. She felt Bess' forehead. 'I can feel that you're running a temperature. Have you got any medicine?'

'Got some Panadol somewhere,' the girl muttered. 'Please don't fuss'.

'I most certainly will fuss,' cried Emma. 'Have you even eaten today?'

'The room comes with breakfast', Bess muttered.

'What about lunch, and dinner?'

Bess pointed weakly to the packet of biscuits.

'What about all the food I brought you in the hospital?'

'I ate as much as I could. It was delicious, but I couldn't carry the rest.' Bess flushed. 'I gave it to the nurses.'

'And now you're starving!' Emma was almost shouting. Will thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. The girl was slim, but not skeletal like so many of the actresses he worked with.

Emma stood up. 'You can't stay here like this, with no one to look after you. You're coming home with me right now'.

This was getting out of hand. Will stepped forward. 'Emma, you can't take her home. You don't know anything about her,' he cautioned quietly.

'I know that she saved my daughter!' answered Emma angrily.

'Who are you?' asked Bess from the bed. 'You look like Will Darcy'. She examined him closely. Without her sunglasses, he could see that her eyes were an unusual shade of green. After a few seconds, she smacked herself in the head. 'Of course, you probably are Will Darcy. My life is getting more ridiculous by the minute'.

Will frowned. _What did she mean by that?_

Emma ignored them both. 'This situation is unacceptable. Bess, you are coming home with me now, if we have to carry you out of here. Will, grab her backpack. Bess, put your shoes on. I don't want to hear any more arguments from either of you.'

When Emma was in full mama bear mode, there was no gainsaying her. They both did as they were told.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you, lovely readers and reviewers. You made my week! A few of you have commented that you're looking forward to some more Bess/Darcy action, so here's a start on that. I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

Bess spent most of the next two days sleeping. The relief of knowing she was safe and cared for, even just for a week or two, was overwhelming. As the constant worry about where she would stay and what would happen to her receded, she found that she could barely keep her eyes open.

Emma brought Bess meals on a tray at regular intervals but didn't bother her with too many questions. She just brushed Bess' hair back from her forehead (Bess had mastered sleeping on her uninjured side by this time) and told her not to worry, they would take care of everything. Emma even arranged for a nurse to come to their home and change Bess' dressings so that she didn't have to visit the hospital every other day.

Emma's husband, Gordon, also popped in to check on Bess occasionally. He was a quiet, unassuming man. He wore good quality suits and shirts, but his tie was always slightly askew. He was a little older than Emma, with glasses and the beginnings of a pot belly. Apparently, he worked as an accountant in the City. He seemed slightly bemused by his new houseguest, but assured Bess that she was welcome to stay for as long as she liked. Bess got the impression he would do anything Emma asked of him.

By Thursday afternoon, Bess was finally awake enough to think about getting up for something other than a toilet stop and a quick wash. She was just easing herself gingerly out of bed when a small, curly head popped around her door.

'Freya?'

'Bess? Are you awake?'

Bess smiled. Would she be sitting on the side of her bed if she wasn't awake?

'Yes, I was just getting up. Do you want to come in?'

Freya sidled into the room. She was wearing a navy blue tunic over a white blouse with red trim. She looked adorable.

'Mummy said not to disturb you, but I wanted to see you'.

'You're not disturbing me, pumpkin. What can I do for you?'

'I came in yesterday, but you were sleeping'. Freya fiddled with the hem of her tunic.

'I have been sleeping a lot,' Bess said. 'It's the fastest way to get better'.

'And are you better now?' asked Freya, looking up hopefully.

'Almost', said Bess. _Where was the kid going with this?_

Freya perched on the end of the bed and screwed up her nose.

'Phew, you smell'.

 _Ah, kids. Always honest_.

'I do a bit,' Bess agreed. 'I'm not allowed to take a real shower until I get my stitches out, so I'm just doing the best I can with a face washer.'

'That's okay,' said Freya. 'I don't think the teddies will mind.'

'The teddies?' asked Bess, totally confused.

'The teddies want to meet you,' explained Freya patiently.

'Oh, I see,' said Bess. 'Well, I'd like to meet them too. Can they come to visit, or do I have to go to them?'

The teddies were happy to come to Bess. All ninety-nine of them, or so it seemed. Not just teddies, but cats, dogs, elephants and pretty much every soft toy ever invented.

Bess fell asleep half way through the life history of stuffed toy number sixty-three, but when she woke later she found that Freya had left her two bears, a zebra and a chimpanzee for company. _Cute kid_.

On Friday morning, Bess had an appointment at the hospital to get her stitches removed. She waited until everyone had left for the day (Gordon to work, Freya to school, and Emma to a pre-production meeting, whatever that was) before shuffling downstairs to get some breakfast. The kitchen was absolutely gorgeous, with rustic white cupboards, gleaming appliances and a super fancy Italian coffee machine that she could just manage to use with one arm. She really needed to get out of here before she got used to the life of luxury.

Bess had allowed plenty of time to walk to the hospital, but she found a note from Emma on the kitchen bench, asking her to take a taxi both ways. On top of the note was a house key and a fifty-pound note. It seemed extravagant to take a taxi for such a short distance, so Bess decided to compromise. She would walk there and catch a taxi home after.

Dr Graves was pleased with her progress. Her ribs and shoulder blade were healing nicely, and he thought she'd be able to dispense with the sling in a week or two. Getting the stitches out didn't hurt, exactly, but they pulled through her skin in a way that wasn't pleasant. Bess got the shivers again half way through, and when she saw her back in the mirror at the end of the procedure, she felt so light headed she had to lie back down for a minute.

A nurse took pity on her and let her use the hospital shower to warm up. After a week and a half of sponge baths, it was heavenly to sit under the spray and let the hot water cascade over her face and body. Still, she kept twisting her head to try to see the red, angry wounds on her back. Dr Graves said they would turn white and fade with time, but Bess could tell she was going to have some serious scars.

She was still a bit shaky on her legs when she left the hospital, and very glad to have the money for the cab fare back to Emma's. _This must be how the other half lives_ , she thought, as she slid into the back seat. She'd never been inside one of London's famous black taxis before, and didn't expect to be again any time soon, so she resolved to enjoy the short ride. She was a little disappointed that her cabbie didn't have a Cockney accent, but it was lovely to watch all the people going about their business on the high street while being chauffeured past in comfort.

She let herself into Emma's Victorian townhouse, and was just heading upstairs to change when a voice called from the kitchen.

'Emma, is that you?'

'No, it's me, Bess,' she replied hesitantly. The voice sounded familiar. _Was it…?_

Will Darcy _. Great, just what she needed._ He had come out of the kitchen and was leaning against the door jam, arms crossed, scowling at her.

Bess had grown somewhat accustomed to Emma's movie star good looks, but Will Darcy was even more striking. Tall, dark and brooding with piercing blue eyes and a lean, strong frame. _What a cliché_.

'Emma gave you a key?' he asked in his deep voice.

'Yes, just for this morning', Bess answered neutrally. 'Everyone was out and I had to go to the hospital.'

He frowned even more. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah, I'm fine,' said Bess, unconsciously rubbing her shoulder. 'I was only getting my stitches out.'

'You look a bit pale,' he remarked. _Full marks for observation_.

'There were a lot of them,' Bess explained defensively. 'More than I was expecting.'

He looked as though he didn't know what to do with that piece of information. 'Should you be lying down?' he asked after a pause.

'Yeah, I'll head up to bed now,' said Bess, eager to get away. 'Could you please give these to Emma when she gets home?' She held out the key and the change from the taxi, and after a slight hesitation he took them.

She started up the stairs but turned back as a thought struck her. 'Please don't tell Emma,' she asked.

'About the key?' he said, looking confused. _Why was he so obsessed with damned key?_

'No, about the stitches. She'd only worry.'

He nodded, and Bess made good her escape.

Bess stayed in her room for as long as possible, hoping to avoid any more stilted conversation with Mr obscenely-handsome-but-socially-impaired Darcy. Eventually, though, hunger drove her downstairs to look for some late lunch. She took her returning appetite as a sign that she was healing well.

The kitchen door was closed. She could hear voices coming from the other side. Emma was talking to Will. Bess was just weighing up whether she was hungry enough to go in and interrupt their conversation, when she heard her own name.

'Emma, I can't believe you gave Bess a key to your house'.

 _Again with the key? What was his problem?_

'It was just to get to the hospital. I would have taken her myself, if I wasn't producing as well as starring this time'.

'Emma,' he said slowly, 'you're deliberately avoiding the issue. You can't go around giving strangers your house key. What if she got it copied? What if she decided to give News of the World a private tour of your home?'

'News of the World doesn't exist anymore, Will. They got shut down for hacking people's phones, remember?'

'You know what I mean. The truth is, you don't know anything about the girl. She's just an encroaching little Australian nobody.'

Bess almost gasped out loud at the insult. _Who the hell did he think he was?_

Emma didn't sound too impressed either. 'I know that I owe her a debt I can never repay,' she said coldly. 'I would ask you to remember that. Besides, I'm a better judge of character than you give me credit for.'

'You mean, the way you judged the character of that Swedish au pair?'

Something slammed down on the table. It sounded like a coffee cup. 'I can't believe you would say that to me, Will. I will never, ever forgive myself for hiring a girl who was too busy flirting with her new boyfriend to notice that Freya had fallen in front of a train.'

Emma started to cry. Again. _My goodness, these acting types were dramatic_.

'I'm sorry, Emma.' At least he sounded genuinely remorseful. 'Please don't cry'. There was a pause, then a sound that sounded like tissues being pulled out of a box. 'God knows I'm as grateful as you that Bess was there. I'm just asking you to be careful. You're too trusting, and people take advantage of your good nature.'

Bess's stomach grumbled, but there was no way she was going into that kitchen now. If she never saw Will Darcy again, it would be too soon. She fled back up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you, dear readers and reviewers. Some people seemed to feel that Darcy was just too rude in the last chapter, and I agree he's pretty bad! Still, if you think about the book he is probably just as rude about Elizabeth in the beginning, with less justification. I love hearing everyone's different reactions to the story, though. Please keep your thoughts coming._

* * *

An hour later, Bess was sitting on her bed, scrolling through job websites on her laptop and trying to pretend she wasn't hungry. She sure was mad, though. _What the hell was she supposed to do?_ If the accident had never happened, Bess would be happily pulling beers in a pub in Greenwich right now, not desperately searching low-paying listings for a job she could do one-handed.

There was a knock on her bedroom door. 'Come in,' she called, thinking it would be Freya home from school.

It wasn't. It was Emma, bringing her a sandwich and some salad. Bess quickly shut her laptop and tried to look less furious.

Emma smiled and held out the food. 'I didn't know if you'd had lunch, so I brought you something.'

'Vegemite, my favourite!' said Bess, putting the plate on the bedside table. 'Thanks, Emma'.

Emma waved her hand as if to deflect the thanks. 'How did you get on at the hospital?' she asked.

'Great,' answered Bess. 'Dr Graves is really pleased with my progress. I can ditch the sling in a week or too, and then I should be pretty much back to normal.'

Emma beamed. 'That's wonderful news.' She sat down on the bed next to Bess. 'I was going to leave this for a few weeks until you were all mended, but given that you're already job hunting…'

Bess flushed. _Damn._ She hadn't been quick enough to shut the laptop.

'… we'd really like you to be Freya's new nanny, at least until you start university.'

Bess stared at her in astonishment. 'You can't ask me that!' she got out eventually.

Emma looked hurt. 'Don't you want to? Freya has taken to you already, and I thought you liked her too'.

'I do like her, she's a great kid,' Bess hastened to explain, 'it's just that…' _Where to even start?_ '… you don't know anything about me'.

Emma smiled. 'I know a lot about your courage and integrity. And as to the rest, of course we'd follow standard procedure with a non-disclosure agreement and a thorough background check'.

Bess considered. She hadn't really lived much yet, so there was probably nothing in her background to disqualify her. She knew she shouldn't even be entertaining the offer, but it was so tempting…

'I did try marijuana once at uni, although it didn't really work out. Would that rule me out?'

Emma smiled. 'If you'd grown up in the theatre world, you wouldn't even ask. What do you mean 'it didn't work out''?

 _Me and my big mouth_ , thought Bess. 'I was at a party, and someone passed me a joint. I don't smoke, so I didn't know how to inhale, but I gave it a try and somehow put the joint out. I was so embarrassed I just passed it on to the next person and hoped they were too stoned to notice.'

Emma went off into peals of laughter. 'Bless you, if that's the worst thing you've done, you won't have any trouble with the background check,' she assured Bess once she could talk again.

Bess had other objections, though. 'I've done a fair bit of babysitting, and looked after my nephews, but I'm not a qualified nanny.'

Emma threw up her hands. 'I don't _care_ about that. Don't you see, I had a qualified au pair looking after Freya, and it turns out she was too busy sneaking around with her boyfriend to pay any attention to her. Ever since the accident, I don't trust anyone except myself, Gordon or Will to look after her. Or you. You've already proved you'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.'

Bess thought about that for a minute. It made sense, but it also raised a whole bunch of new problems.

'Emma, I don't mean to offend, but I don't think we can have an employer-employee relationship while you're so _grateful_ all the time. What would you do if I did something wrong? Would you even say anything?'

'Maybe not,' admitted Emma, 'but I could ask Gordon to. Besides, what could you do wrong?'

Bess sighed. It was hard being the responsible adult in the conversation, when she really needed the job.

Emma must have sensed her weakening, because she quickly started to outline the terms of her offer. Live-in with her own bedroom, study and bathroom, looking after Freya before and after school plus one night per week, gym membership, salary of one thousand pounds a week...

'Emma, are you insane?' cried Bess. 'You cannot pay me one thousand pounds per week. The going rate is more like four hundred. I know because I've just been looking at job postings.'

'Eight hundred, then,' countered Emma, 'but that's my final offer.'

Bess did some quick sums. With no living expenses, she could probably save seven hundred pounds a week, which would mean more than ten thousand by the time she started uni. God, that would help so much.

Emma took Bess' good hand in her own. 'Please', she said. 'I'm not just asking because I'm grateful. We let the other au pair go, of course, and I start filming in a few weeks. We haven't got any child care lined up until September'.

Bess was pretty confident she could look after Freya, and this job would be the answer to all her problems.

'Okay, okay, I accept'.

Emma threw her arms around Bess, releasing her quickly when she gave an involuntary grunt of pain.

'Oh Bess, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, are you okay?'

'I'm fine, completely fine,' said Bess, patting Emma on the hand and hoping she wouldn't cry again. 'Although I don't think I'm up to starting work just yet.'

'Of course not,' agreed Emma. 'Not until Dr Graves gives you a clean bill of health'.

'I can go back to the hostel until then', Bess offered.

'Don't you dare, Bess Bennett' said Emma, wagging her finger. 'You were hard enough to find the first time'.

Emma rose and pointed to the sandwich. 'Eat up, now'. She left before Bess could voice any further objections. _She could give lessons in getting her own way, while being completely charming_ , Bess thought.

She lay down on her side and started to eatj her sandwich. It tasted like home. Only this was her home now.

She had a new job, somewhere to live, even people who seemed to care about her. And if a certain someone saw it as further evidence of her _encroaching_ ways, well that was just too bad. He could keep his haughty disapproval to himself.

* * *

Bess spent the next fortnight resting, doing her rehab exercises and playing with Freya. It was lovely.

Mr Very-Stuck-Up Darcy was apparently travelling on a press junket to promote his new film, so she didn't have to deal with his (no doubt very negative) reaction to her new position in the household.

It wasn't until she had officially been working as Freya's nanny for one week that she saw him again. When she and Freya got home from school on Friday afternoon, they found him sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper. He was dressed casually in jeans and a button-down shirt, his dark hair ruffled. _Damn, but this man had won the genetic lottery. Pity about his personality._

'Uncle Will!', cried Freya, jumping into his lap for a cuddle.

'Hello moppet!' he replied, kissing the top of her head. 'Did you miss me?'

'I didn't,' said Freya, 'I've been too busy playing with Bess. But the teddies missed you. They want you to come and have a tea party with them.'

'Cheeky brat!' he said with a smile. 'Maybe later'. He opened his arms and Freya slid off his lap.

His smile disappeared as he looked at Bess. 'Good afternoon,' he said coldly.

'Emma and Gordon won't be home until dinner time', she blurted out.

He raised one eyebrow. 'I know', he said.

'Freya has some homework to do, but it can wait until later if you want to spend some time with her,' Bess offered.

'Don't let me get in your way', he replied sardonically, indicating the free end of the table with his hand.

 _Awesome_ , thought Bess. _Nothing like a bit of disdain to help with the homework_.

She fixed Freya some fruit and hot chocolate for afternoon tea, and they sat down at the far end of the table together. Darcy returned to his newspaper.

Freya was a bright kid and sailed through her spelling words easily. The reading she could do in bed at night, which left only maths. Bess had already discovered that Freya did not love maths, and today was fractions, which was particularly loathsome, according to Freya.

'Remember', Bess told her, 'the first rule of maths is not to panic'. She pointed to Freya's mug, which was decorated with a crown and the words _Keep Calm and Carry On_.

The first two questions weren't too bad, but when they got to 'what is a half of a half?' Freya's bottom lip started to tremble. 'How can you have a half of a half?' she whined. 'It doesn't make any sense'.

Darcy was still reading his paper, but Bess though she saw his lip curl. _Screw him_. _I bet he couldn't handle maths with a tired seven-year-old_.

'Do you have any play dough?' she asked Freya quickly, before the tears could start.

'I did have some,' she answered, 'but I left the lid off and it got all hard, so Mummy threw it out.'

'That's okay,' said Bess. 'We can make some more'.

They searched in the pantry for flour, salt, food colouring and cream of tartar, and fifteen minutes later they had cooked up a lovely, bright green ball of warm play dough.

'This is maths homework?' Freya asked in astonishment as they sat back down at the table with the dough and two butter knives.

'It sure is,' Bess told her. 'Let's each make a pie'.

They cut their play dough pies into halves, quarters and finally eighths. 'See, you do understand,' Bess encouraged.

'But what about a half of a half?' Freya asked.

Bess moulded her play dough into a new pie, and asked Freya to cut it in half. Then she asked her to cut her half in half.

'Now, does that look familiar?' asked Bess.

Freya screwed up her nose in concentration. 'It looks like … a quarter?'

'That's right! Good girl, Freya. A half of a half is a quarter'.

They kept working through Freya's worksheet with the aid of the play dough, until they got to fourteen over three. 'How can I make that?' asked Freya.

'We could do it with play dough,' Bess told her, 'but I've got something better. Hold on a minute'.

She ran up to her room and came back with a tube of smarties. Freya's face lit up at the sight of the chocolate. 'Are we going to eat those?'

'Maybe, when we've finished our maths.'

Bess counted out fourteen smarties. 'That's the top number', she explained. 'And the bottom number says that we have to divide them into three equal groups.'

Freya still looked puzzled.

'Just pretend you're sharing these smarties equally between you, me and Uncle Will. That's three groups. Remember fractions are always fair, so everyone has to get the same amount'.

Freya carefully shared out the smarties into three piles. She was fine until she got to the two left over. 'What do I do with these?' she asked. 'There aren't enough for everyone to have another one'.

'That's the remainder', explained Bess. 'So fourteen over three means everyone gets four' – she indicated the groups of four – 'and two remainder'.

'Oh', said Freya, 'I think I get it now'.

They worked through the last few questions together and it seemed that Freya did indeed get it. 'Can we eat the smarties now?' Freya asked at the end.

'I've just got one more question for you', said Bess. 'What's fourteen divided by two?'

Freya counted out the smarties again. 'It's seven', she announced proudly.

'Good girl! Seven for me and seven for you', said Bess, popping a smartie into her mouth.

'But what about Uncle Will? I thought you said fractions were always fair?'

'They are,' grinned Bess. 'But you have to follow the rules. If the question says to make two groups, then you can only make two groups. Besides, Uncle Will didn't do any maths, so he didn't earn any smarties, did he?'

Freya giggled. 'That's right! No smarties for you, Uncle Will'.

He looked up from his paper and stuck his tongue out at Freya, which only made her laugh harder.

'Why don't you two go and have tea with the teddies,' suggested Bess. 'I'm going to start dinner'. She knew she didn't have any right to order him around, but it was worth a try to escape his brooding presence for the rest of the afternoon.

Freya grabbed her smarties with one hand and Uncle Will with the other. 'Come on, Uncle Will, we can't keep the teddies waiting.'

With an unreadable glance over his shoulder, he went.


	6. Chapter 6

_Your reviews for chapter five made me laugh out loud. People had strong opinions about maths homework, Uncle Will and whether or not he deserved any smarties. Personally, I think he needs to improve his behaviour first :-)_ _Which brings me to the next chapter…_

* * *

Will hesitated on the front doorstep of Emma's house. He knew she had a Friday afternoon off, but now he was here he couldn't remember if it was this week or the next. It didn't really matter, though. Emma and Gordon encouraged him to treat their place as his second home. To be honest, it felt more like home to him than his own bachelor pad.

Even if only the nanny was home, it wouldn't be a problem. At least she wasn't like the Swedish au pair, who had changed into itty bitty clothes when he came over, sat too close to him, found excuses to touch him and generally made him so uncomfortable that he had been careful never to be alone with her. Mercifully, Bess wasn't like that. She didn't fawn all over him and tended to excuse herself from family dinners when he was present. She directed most of her attention to Freya, and Darcy had to admit she was very good with her. He didn't mind if Bess engaged in a bit of subtle flirtation, like that day she was teaching Freya fractions. _No smarties for Uncle Will, indeed_. His mouth quirked up at the memory. Just so long as she didn't expect anything more.

He was just about to let himself in when the door opened and the subject of his thoughts appeared in front of him.

'Oh, hi!', said Bess, taking a step back in surprise. 'Sorry, I wasn't expecting there to be anyone on the doorstep'.

Today she was wearing a knee length floral dress and a denim jacket. She was slender, but this outfit showed she had gentle curves in all the right places. With flat sandals on, she just topped his shoulder. He gave himself a mental shake. He was _not_ here to ogle the nanny.

'Never mind,' he said, 'I didn't ring the bell. Is Emma home?'

'She should have been,' explained Bess, 'but she got called into the studio. Don't let me keep you,' she said, moving aside so he could enter the house. 'I'm just heading out to pick Freya up from school'.

'I'll come with you,' he said, surprising himself as much as her.

'Uh… okay,' Bess agreed.

It was relaxing walking down the street with Bess. She didn't chatter inanely, nor did he have to shorten his stride to match her pace. Her face was turned up a little, as if to drink in the sun. Golden streaks wove through the loose braid in her hair.

After a few minutes of silence, he thought he had better say _something_.

'Do you always walk to and from school with Freya?' he ventured.

'I try to,' she smiled. 'It's good exercise for both of us, and this is such a beautiful part of London. The parks are so _green_. Nothing is that colour back home'.

'This green and pleasant land?' he quoted. 'Unfortunately, it comes with a lot of grey days and rain.'

'I've noticed,' said Bess. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and he could see the brown flecks in the green. 'When I first arrived, I thought people were crazy for rolling up their sleeves and lying down on the nearest patch of grass when the sun came out, but now I've started doing it myself'.

'I wish I could', said Will ruefully. 'People tend to leave me alone more if I keep moving'.

'Oh, okay,' said Bess.

The conversation faltered after that. He supposed she didn't have much experience with being mobbed by fans, and he wasn't expecting her to feel sorry for him for being famous, was he?

They arrived at Freya's international school just as the kids were streaming out the front gate. Freya was easy to spot with her rainbow unicorn backpack and her curls flying madly around her face.

'Your hair tie came out _again_?' asked Bess as she hugged Freya.

'I'm sorry, I did try. It's like Mummy says, my hair has a mind of its own.'

Bess laughed. 'It sure does. One day I'm going to tame those curls. Perhaps we'll try braids next week.'

'Okay,' Freya agreed. 'Thanks for bringing Uncle Will', she said, as he picked her up.

'I didn't bring him,' said Bess. 'He brought himself'.

'I'm glad you brought yourself,' Freya told him, bestowing a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 'Are we going to have a special treat?'

'Do you have plans?' he asked Bess.

She shrugged. 'We were just going to walk home, but feel free to take Freya out if you'd like to'.

'What would you like to do, mischief?' he asked Freya, depositing her on the footpath.

'I want to catch the tube to Hamleys,' she announced.

He looked to Bess for advice, but she seemed stunned.

'I don't think that's a good idea, hon', he said, kneeling down to her level. 'It hasn't been that long since the accident'.

Freya crossed her arms. 'But Uncle Will, it's like getting back on a horse after you fall off. The longer it is, the more scared I get. I don't want to have the nightmares anymore.' She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. 'And I want to go to Hamleys'.

He pulled her to him and hugged her tight for a minute. They had come so close to losing her. 'Okay poppet, I guess we could ask your mum or dad.'

'Good idea,' said Bess, composing herself. She pulled out her phone and stepped away to make the calls.

Freya dug in her bag and pulled out some art for him to admire while they waited. 'Guess what it is, Uncle Will?' she encouraged.

He was pretty sure that 'a blob of clay with some bits falling off' wasn't the correct answer, so he played the numbers and went with 'a teddy?'.

'No silly,' said Freya, 'it's a dolphin'.

'Of course it's a dolphin,' said Bess smugly, coming back from her calls. 'I couldn't reach Emma, but Gordon said it's okay to try,' she reported.

'Right then, Hamleys it is', he said with false heartiness. Freya put the blob of clay/dolphin back into her bag, slung it over her shoulder and skipped down the road toward Notting Hill Gate.

'Are you sure this is a good idea?' he asked Bess quietly as they followed.

'No, I'm not at all sure,' Bess replied, 'but she has a point about the nightmares. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? If she freaks out, we can just bail at the next station, or before we even get on the train'. She frowned. 'I can't carry her yet, though, so you'd have to. Is that okay?'

'Of course it's fine,' he said brusquely. Bess looked pale and strained, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do if _she_ freaked out. 'Will you be okay?' he asked.

'I'll be fine', she told him with a false smile. 'Let's just focus on Freya'.

Five minutes later, he was standing on the platform, wearing Freya's unicorn backpack and holding her trembling hand in his. They were as far away from the yellow line as they could get. Bess was on the other side of Freya, holding her other hand.

He heard the next train rumbling towards them and felt the air being pushed through the tunnel. Freya gripped his hand harder. He caught Bess' eye and she bent down to reassure Freya.

'Remember, sweetheart, you don't have to get on the train today. Just getting to the platform is a big achievement'.

'I want to go to Hamleys', Freya insisted with a wobble in her voice.

As the train pulled into the station and the doors opened, Will made a decision. He picked Freya up and strode quickly into the carriage. With no free hands, he had to lean against the side wall. Freya burrowed her face into his neck. She was shaking all over. 'That's it, brave girl', he soothed.

Bess stood next to them, more white-faced than ever. She was gripping the metal pole so tightly her knuckles showed white, and her eyes were pressed shut. 'Are you okay?' he whispered. She nodded without opening her eyes.

All went well (or relatively well, with Freya shaking like a leaf and Bess looking as though she was about to pass out) for the next two stations, until Will noticed a teenager in a hoodie and headphones taking pictures of them on his mobile phone. _Damn it to hell_. This was not an image he wanted to see splashed across the tabloids.

'Bess', he whispered. No reaction. 'Bess', he tried again louder. This time she opened her eyes and looked at him. She was breathing as though she had run a race.

'Do you want to get off?' he asked.

She visibly pulled herself together and looked up at the map. 'We've only got three more stops. If Freya's okay, let's keep going'.

'Alright', agreed Will, 'but that kid over there is taking photos of us'. He indicated the teenager with his head.

'Bugger', said Bess. Before Darcy could stop her, she'd let go of the pole and approached the kid.

Darcy couldn't hear their conversation, but he could tell Bess was sweet talking the guy. She was standing in close, smiling and playing with her hair. She gestured back at Darcy and Freya, and the kid shrugged and pulled out his phone. They did something together on the screen, then the kid stuck the phone back in his too-baggy pants and gave her the thumbs up. She flashed him one last brilliant smile and came back to Darcy.

He said the first thing that came into his head. 'You were _flirting_ with him?'

'I was getting him to delete the photos,' she corrected.

'He actually did it?' he asked incredulously.

'We went through his camera roll and got rid of them all, so unless he already uploaded them to the cloud, we should be fine'.

She patted Freya on the back. 'How're you doing, sweetie?'

'I'm scared' Freya whispered into his neck.

'It's okay, we're looking after you, nothing bad is going to happen', Bess reassured her, rubbing her back.

Will cuddled Freya a little tighter, but he wasn't willing to let the subject drop just yet.

' _How_ did you get him to delete the photos?'

Bess looked down at her feet. 'I, uh, might have promised him a selfie with you when we get off'.

 _What the hell?_ Shouting wasn't an option in such a public place, so he put all of his feelings into his glare.

Of course, it was never just one selfie. By the time they'd left the train at Oxford Circus and he'd grudgingly allowed the teenager to take a picture with him, a queue of people wanting photos and autographs had formed.

Bess stood off to one side looking drawn. Freya was clinging to her leg. 'Don't wait for me,' he told them. 'I'll meet you outside'.

He didn't get away until the next train pulled into the station, and even then, a couple of people followed him up the escalators. He walked faster and had lost them by the time he emerged onto the street.

'I'm so sorry,' was the first thing Bess said to him. 'I had no idea it could get out of hand so quickly'.

His temper had cooled a bit by then so he didn't yell, just shrugged. 'You got rid of the photos that mattered. Now, let's go to Hamleys'.

xxxxx

The girls were like kids in a candy store. Which made sense for Freya, because she was seven years old, but Bess had to be in her early twenties. They danced on the giant floor piano, waved Harry Potter wands, posed with Lego statutes and hugged giant teddies. Darcy pulled on his cap and sunglasses and trailed in their wake, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself. In the costume section, Bess put on a witch's hat and warty nose, then turned her upper eyelids inside out and rolled her eyes at Freya, who screamed with delight. It was completely undignified.

When they were done being silly, Darcy asked Freya what she'd like to get. He always bought a toy for her when they came to Hamleys.

'I'd like a game, please, Uncle Will,' she said, putting down the green wig she'd been trying on.

'A game? Don't you want another teddy?'

'Bess says I shouldn't bring home any more teddies for now, or the ones I have might get sad. She says you're supposed to love your teddies until their fur falls off and they lose an eye, like the velveteen rabbit'.

He vaguely remembered that book from his childhood. It had made him cry, and his father had thrown it in the bin. Stupid rabbit.

'Bess says that games are good because you can play them over and over again', Freya explained when he frowned. He'd heard quite enough about what Bess said for one day, so he took Freya's hand and led her upstairs to the games section.

They looked at board games, puzzles, card games and novelty games. Freya, however, had her heart set on Twister.

Bess knelt down next to her. 'Pumpkin, you know I'm much better now, but I'm still not quite ready for Twister'.

Freya looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. 'That's okay, you can still spin for us, can't you?'

Bess grinned wickedly up at Will. 'I sure can spin,' she said. 'And Uncle Will's so big and strong, I'm sure he'll be able to play Twister with you'.

Will knew when he was beaten. He sighed and held out his hand for the game.

* * *

He insisted on a taxi for the return trip. Both girls were still a bit shaky, so when they got back to Emma's he offered to make hot chocolate.

Bess stared at him. 'What?' he asked defensively. 'I do know how to make hot chocolate, you know'.

'I'm sorry, of course you do,' said Bess. 'We'll just head upstairs and lay out the mat'.

He hadn't played Twister since university, and it was much worse than he remembered. Freya was as bendy as a rubber band, while his back and knees were screaming at him after only a few turns. And was it his imagination, or was Bess taking longer for his turns than for Freya?

'Spin, damn it', he ground out.

Bess laughed. 'Sorry, I was drinking my hot chocolate'. She put it down and gave the plastic arrow a flick. 'Right hand red'.

'Oh come on, that's not even possible,' he complained.

'You can do it,' encouraged Freya, who was twisted like a pretzel underneath him.

He made a lunge for the nearest red dot, but the shiny new plastic slipped under his supporting left hand. He contorted himself like a cat so as not to crush Freya, and landed flat on his back on the side of the mat.

Freya jumped up and down, curls bouncing madly. 'I did it! I won!'

Bess gave her a high five. 'You sure did! You caught the tube, and thrashed Uncle Will at Twister, all in one afternoon. I told you that you were Super Girl.'

Freya zoomed around the room pretending to fly. Will dropped his head back onto the carpet and closed his eyes. These women were going to be the death of him.


	7. Chapter 7

_After a brief break in transmission, I'm back with a new chapter. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it :-)_

* * *

 _Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Breathe._ The familiar rhythm was a meditation. Bess' arms cut cleanly through the surface. The water chuckled and gurgled as it flowed past her swim cap. The air, when she turned her head to breathe, was heavy with chlorine. The pool was warm, too warm for serious training, but perfect for working out the tension in her muscles after a rehab session in the gym.

Bess had the pool to herself. Emma had signed Bess up to her own exclusive gym, but few of the fashionable patrons favoured swimming. Most of the women worked out in the latest active wear and a full face of makeup. What the men lacked in mascara, they made up for in fake tan and perfect hair. Maybe that was why they didn't want to get wet.

 _Well, it was their loss._ Being in the water was like being in the womb, Bess reflected. Warm, weightless, cocooned in muffled sound. She didn't want to stop, but knew she'd pay for it tomorrow if she pushed it too hard now. The scars on her back weren't painful anymore, but the skin pulled in unaccustomed ways and her swimming muscles were out of practice. Four hundred more metres of free, she promised herself, then two hundred breaststroke to cool down, and I'll hop out.

As she started her tumble turn, she saw someone standing at the end of the lane, waving. Reluctantly, she pulled out of the turn. She hated to stop in the middle of a set.

It was a big, muscly gym instructor, and he was frowning at her.

'You can't swim in a rash vest. It's against the pool rules.' He pointed to the sign on the wall. 'Regulation swimsuits only'.

Bess sighed and levered herself out of the pool. She didn't want to have this conversation while she was level with his shoes.

'I have a medical condition', she explained as she stood up. 'It's really better if I wear the rashie. It's a Speedo one, it's made from proper swim fabric'.

He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, but the rules are clear. One-piece or two-piece swimsuits only. No rashies, no boardshorts. Besides, should you be swimming at all with a medical condition?'

'It's not contagious, or anything like that,' said Bess defensively. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. It was colder out of the pool, and she was dripping wet.

'I'm sorry, but you either need to stop swimming or take off the rash vest'.

'Is there a problem here?' asked a deep voice from behind her. She turned, but she already knew who it was. Will Darcy. _Did he have to be present for every humiliating moment in her life?_ He was immaculate in a polo shirt, shorts and sneakers. He was barely even sweating.

'No problem at all, Mr Darcy', said the gym instructor, adopting a friendlier tone. 'I was just letting this young woman know she can't swim in a rash vest'.

Darcy frowned at Bess, who was starting to shiver. 'I can't see that she's hurting anyone with her choice of swimming attire'.

'Of course, Mr Darcy, I quite understand your point of view, but I'm afraid it is against the rules. It's a matter of hygiene'.

Darcy's eyebrows rose. 'You think she's _unhygienic_?'

Bess wanted to sink through the floor. 'You know what?' she interjected. 'Please don't worry about it. Either of you'.

She was wearing a Speedo scoop back one-piece underneath, so she pulled the offending rash vest over her head and dropped it at their feet. She adjusted her goggles and turned her back to the men. Neither of them spoke. Shocked into silence, probably. _So, they didn't like looking at the raw, red mess that was her back? Too bad for them._

She executed a neat racing dive and sprinted down the lane. Her arms pounded the water and her legs kicked strongly, throwing up white water behind her. The pool cooled her burning face. Her goggles filled with tears. Maybe she should just swim forever.

After ten angry laps, her shoulders were aching. She was going to be sore tomorrow, but she didn't care. She backed off the pace for the last six, and then switched to leisurely breaststroke. _Up, down, kick, glide. Up, down, kick, glide. Don't think. Just swim._

She finished her last lap and pulled off her goggles and cap. She floated on her back for a minute, eyes shut, then stood and smoothed back her wet hair, wringing out her pony tail. Darcy appeared at the end of the lane, holding a towel. _Of course._

Bess pushed herself up and out of the pool. Her arms were like jelly and she almost fell back in, but pride gave her the strength she needed to get out. She picked up her rashie, goggles and cap and stood toe to toe with Darcy, hands on hips, daring him to say something.

Wordlessly, he reached around her and draped the towel over her shoulders. She flushed and looked down.

'How did it get so bad?' he asked.

'My back?'

He nodded.

She wrapped the towel around herself and started to walk slowly towards the changerooms. He followed at her side.

'I don't remember the accident well. The doctors think it was because of Freya'.

Darcy scowled. Well, she was sorry if he didn't want to hear this, but he had asked, hadn't he?

'Usually, when someone gets hit by a train, or more often a car, they roll when they hit the ground. Because I was holding on to Freya, the extra weight made me slide across the platform, which tore up my skin pretty badly. Or at least, that's what they think'.

'I had no idea'. He grasped her elbow through the towel, turning her to face him. 'When you said it was a lot of stitches, I thought you meant twenty or thirty'.

She shrugged. 'I didn't ask them how many they took out. It felt like about two hundred'.

He let go of her elbow. 'You're brave', he said simply. His gaze was gentle.

'I'm really not'. Bess shuffled her feet. 'Excuse me please, I have to get dressed'.

* * *

Darcy changed quickly, then waited outside the women's change room for Bess to emerge. He couldn't stop thinking about her back. She had beautiful skin – young, firm, golden – and the contrast with the red, angry welts was shocking. It was as though she'd been flogged.

Looking back, he could see how much Bess downplayed her injuries. He wondered whether Emma knew how bad they really were. If Bess hadn't wrapped herself around Freya, shielding her from the impact, it would be Freya bearing those wounds on her small body.

Bess came out of the change room. Her wet hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she had changed into a t-shirt, denim shorts, and flip flops (or _thongs_ as the Australians called them). She was carrying a large tote over one shoulder.

'I'm driving you home', he announced, coming to meet her.

'Thanks, but there's no need. It's only a short walk and there's nothing _wrong_ with me'.

'Of course not,' he agreed. 'I'm going that way myself, so it's no trouble to drop you off'. Okay, Notting Hill wasn't _exactly_ on the way to Knightsbridge, but she didn't need to know that. 'And I'll carry your bag, thank you'. He relieved her of the tote before she could argue about that too.

The bag was unexpectedly heavy. 'What have you got in here, rocks?' he asked.

Bess smiled. 'Just a few textbooks, actually'.

'I thought you weren't starting university until September?'

'I'm not, but we're supposed to be doing advance reading for our dissertation'.

By this time, they had reached the front door of the gym. Darcy held the door for Bess, then waited on the footpath.

'I thought you drove?' asked Bess, confused.

'I did', he answered. 'They have valet'.

Bess rolled her eyes. 'Of course they do'.

His car was brought round a minute later. He tipped the attendant, handed him their bags, then opened the passenger door for Bess.

She gave a low whistle as she slid onto the leather seat. 'Nice car'.

'Thanks', he said, getting in to the driver's side. 'I bought it with the pay check from my first leading role'.

'It's … nice', she repeated.

Darcy grinned. 'Do you even know what kind of car it is?'

'No, but I'm sure it's lovely', she told him with a cheeky grin.

'It's a 2010 Aston Martin Vantage, you philistine'.

Bess laughed. It was a full, uninhibited sound. He forced himself to pay attention to the traffic, which was was pretty heavy. They'd exhausted the topic of cars, so he dredged his mind for a new subject.

'What are you doing for your dissertation topic?' he asked.

'The utility of Erikson's Theory of Psychosocial Development as an explanatory model for workplace motivation: a discourse analysis'.

'I'm sorry, was that supposed to convey some meaning to me?'

Bess laughed again. 'That's what I wrote on my application, but it's nowhere near as fancy as it sounds'.

'Can you explain it in words of two syllables or less?'

'I can try'. And she was off.

Apparently Erikson was an old dude who had a theory that there were eight life stages, and each one involved a crisis which was either resolved, or not. People found his model useful in understanding their lives ('face validity', Bess called it), but there wasn't much science behind it and so it had fallen out of favour. Bess wanted to see if it could be applied to organisational psychology to help people understand their career choices and motivations.

Bess waved her hands around as she talked, and her bun started to fall out. Darcy couldn't follow all the details of her theory, but he enjoyed her enthusiasm.

She wound down after about five minutes. 'I'm sorry, I'm sure you didn't want to know any of that'.

'On the contrary, it sounds fascinating. I don't quite understand the life stages, though. Can you give me an example?'

'If you're sure you want to know…'

He nodded.

'Okay, so at seven, Freya should be coming into the fourth stage, which is Industry versus Inferiority. Basically, the goal for this stage is to develop self-confidence through achievement, for example at school. Failure to achieve the goal can lead to a sense of inferiority'.

Will thought about that. 'You mean like when she gets upset about maths'.

'That's a good example', Bess agreed. 'She doesn't need to be good at maths to develop self-confidence, but if she avoids it out of fear then it could become an issue'.

'Which is why you help her to understand it herself, instead of telling her the answers'.

She nodded and smiled at him, as though he were a particularly bright pupil.

'The stage is supposed to last from about six to eleven years old,' she continued, 'but I think it has application for adults in the workplace as well'.

'I can see that', he agreed. When his film career started to take off, he'd found a sense of self worth that he'd never acquired during his childhood. 'What other stages are there?'

'I won't bore you with all of them,' she said. 'Another relevant one for the workplace is Generativity versus Stagnation.'

'It sounds like a pond', said Will dryly.

Bess grinned. 'I know, all the stages have stupid names. Generativity versus Stagnation is the seventh stage. The goal is to contribute to society and do things that benefit future generations. It could be mentoring younger workers or creating art that persists beyond your own lifetime. People who fail at this stage become bitter and twisted. You know, the difficult co-worker who's checked out, just waiting to retire but making everyone else miserable.'

That made sense too, thought Will. He'd been lucky to work with some older actors at the beginning of his career who took the time to help him learn about life on set. He'd since encountered others who saw all younger actors as a threat, and did their best to undermine them.

He pulled up at a red light. 'What stage are you in?' he asked.

Bess paused. 'I think I'm still in Identity versus Role Confusion, even though you're supposed to resolve that in adolescence.'

Darcy glanced at her, surprised. 'But you seem confident in yourself.'

'I do?' she asked. 'I suppose I'm quite self-sufficient, but that's more out of necessity than anything else.' She continued quietly. 'I came to London to find out who I am'.

He didn't know what to reply to that.

She shook her head and her bun fell out altogether. He liked the way the wet strands clung to her neck.

'Listen to me go on', she said. 'You shouldn't encourage me to talk, I might never shut up'.

He didn't want her to stop. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling. She explained her subject in a way that made him want to know more about it, about her.

'What stage am I in?' he asked.

She frowned and looked down at her hands. 'I really couldn't say. It's not for me to psychoanalyse anyone outside of a research or clinical setting'.

The light went green and he turned onto Bayswater Road.

'Did you think about going into clinical psychology?' She was at ease with people in a way that he envied.

She looked out the window and he couldn't see her face as she replied. 'Occupational psychology pays much better'.

He felt the disappointment like a blow to his stomach. She seemed so natural and unaffected by his wealth, but was it all just an act? 'Is money so important then?' he asked coldly.

'It is in London', she replied, matching his tone. 'It's not a good place to be poor'.

He pulled to a stop outside Emma's house. 'I'll get your bag'.

'Don't bother,' she replied. 'I've got it. Thanks for the lift'.

She slammed the door and ran up the steps.

* * *

Will was still thinking about Bess as he let himself into his apartment that evening. He grabbed a beer from the stainless-steel fridge and stood in front of the floor to ceiling window, staring unseeingly at the stunning view of the Thames and the City all lit up. The beer was cold and crisp on the back of his throat.

He couldn't work her out. One minute she was filling his car with her passion and intelligence, and the next she was coldly mercenary. Was she playing games with him? Why wouldn't she tell him what life stage he was supposed to be in?

He sank into the leather couch and swapped his beer for his laptop.

After a few minutes of Googling, he found a website with a list of Erikson's stages. He was thirty-four, which put him in the 21 to 39-year-old stage. "Intimacy versus Isolation".

"During this period, we begin to share ourselves more intimately with others. We explore relationships leading toward longer-term commitments with someone other than a family member.

Successful completion of this stage can result in happy relationships and a sense of commitment, safety, and care within a relationship.

Avoiding intimacy, fearing commitment and relationships can lead to isolation, loneliness, and sometimes depression. Success in this stage will lead to the virtue of love."

 _Bloody hell. What was he supposed to make of that?_


	8. Chapter 8

_So, I've been away, and now I'm back. A few of you have been kind enough to message me and ask me to keep going with this story. I will finish it – I have all the chapters planned out and know more or less what's going to happen. But it could take a while. So thanks very much to everyone who's still reading. I'd love to hear what you think of this latest chapter._

* * *

July rolled around, and with it, Freya's school holidays. Emma had started filming and was working horrendous hours, so Bess was in charge until Gordon got home in the evenings. Bess tried every trick she knew to keep Freya entertained: baking, craft, play-dates, walks in the park, even dancing around the living room in their pyjamas singing badly to YouTube videos.

That worked for a couple of weeks, but Bess was running out of ideas and Freya was asking for her mum every day. The life of an actor was a lot less glamorous close up: either on a break, or working ninety hours a week. Will Darcy had also disappeared off somewhere on location. Bess told herself she was glad to be free of his disturbing presence.

Inspiration struck when they were in Waterstones one day. Freya was sitting on the floor, reading the latest Ivy and Bean book, while Bess perched on a stool nearby, flicking through a guide book to London and reflecting that she really hadn't seen much of it so far.

'Freya, which one is more interesting, Buckingham Palace or the Tower of London?' Bess asked. Now that she was mostly recovered, she thought she might have enough energy left on the weekend to visit one or the other.

'I don't know, I haven't been to either', Freya answered.

Bess was surprised, and started to ask why, when she realised that perhaps it wasn't so easy to visit tourist attractions with a famous parent.

'Would you like to go?' she asked instead.

'Yes please', said Freya eagerly, abandoning her own book and coming to sit next to Bess. 'Could we ride on the London Eye as well?'

So Bess bought the book, and they became tourists. Each night, they poured over the guide, choosing their destination for the next day. Gordon offered advice when appealed to, but otherwise left them to their own decisions. Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Madame Tussaud's, the British Library, the Natural History Museum, Camden Market and Greenwich were just some of the sights they visited.

The weather wasn't summery in the way that Bess understood the word, but so long as they had a packed lunch, some chocolate and a raincoat each, she found it didn't matter too much whether it was fine or rainy. When they ran out of sights they both wanted to see in London, they bought another guidebook and started taking day trips by train. Oxford, Cambridge, Winchester and Bath all delighted Bess, and she managed to make them interesting for Freya too, so long as she didn't linger over long in museums or art galleries.

Brighton was a hit with Freya, and they ate far more rock candy than was good for them. If the rocky beach made Bess think longingly of the soft golden sand she'd grown up with, she was quick to squish down the thought. _This was her home now._

* * *

Will stared moodily out the door of his trailer at the Romanian forest. At least, what he could see of it through the sheeting rain. The lush green trees and dense undergrowth were a convincing substitute for medieval England, but the weather was playing havoc with the shooting schedule. He could see his precious Sunday off going up in smoke, at this rate.

Still, the production could run up to a week over before he was in danger of missing Emma's wrap party, and it was unlikely they'd be able to finance more than a few extra days of filming. He should be fine.

According to Gordon, Emma was equal parts exhilarated and terrified by producing her first film. She was relying on Will to add some extra star power to the party. He certainly owed her after she'd come to his premiere only a few days after Freya's accident. _Freya and Bess' accident_ , he amended silently.

Gordon had told him the girls were currently traipsing around England by train, sightseeing. He hoped Bess was keeping Freya safe, then mentally chided himself for the thought. He had no excuse, now that he'd seen Bess' back. He knew she would protect Freya, at any cost.

He wondered again if he'd been too harsh on Bess when he'd driven her home from the gym. London was an expensive city to live in, and she obviously didn't come from money. Besides, people spent most of their waking lives at work, and she wanted them to have a more fulfilling, meaningful experience. He was hardly in a position to criticise. He just made stupid movies, which distracted people from their problems for a couple of hours and raked in money for the studios.

It wasn't mercenary to want to get on in the world. Not all women were like Caroline, he reminded himself. Just because she'd hooked up with him when he looked like becoming the next big thing, made him believe that she loved him for himself, then dumped him for the next man whose star was rising faster and higher, it didn't mean Bess would do that.

He shook his head angrily. _Why the hell was he thinking of Bess at all? She was his best friend's nanny._ He grabbed his Macintosh from its hook and shrugged it on. Bugger the rain, he needed a walk to clear his head. Still, he hoped she would be at the party.

* * *

'You don't really need me at the party, do you?' Bess wheedled. 'I'll be looking after Freya'.

'Until eight thirty, when she goes to bed', Emma countered. 'After that, you'll be free'.

'But I don't have anything to wear'.

'Which is why we're in my bedroom', said Emma, indicating her enormous dressing room with one hand. 'We're a similar size. I'm sure we can find something suitable. Plus, we've got two days to get alterations done'.

Bess thought quickly. Emma had never seen the scars on her back, and she had no intention of letting her see them now.

'Thanks Emma, but I already live in your house and eat your food. It would just be too weird to wear your clothes'. She held up a hand to silence Emma's objection. Bess was learning the only way to hold her own with a steamroller like Emma was to just keep going. 'I've got tomorrow off, and with all the extra money you insisted on paying me for the holidays, I've plenty extra to buy a dress'.

Emma's face lit up. 'Then you'll come? It would mean so much to me'. She pulled Bess into a tight hug.

Too late, Bess realised she'd been played by a master. 'Alright, I'll come,' she sighed. 'But just for an hour or two'.

* * *

Freya was amped up by the energy of all the people in the house, and kept making excuses to delay her bedtime. She was thirsty, she needed the loo, her eye was itchy, she couldn't find teddy number 87, she just wanted one more peek through the banisters at all the ladies in their beautiful dresses ...

It wasn't until after nine that Bess finally got her to bed. 'You look like a princess', Freya whispered as Bess turned off the light and gently closed the door.

 _More like a paper bag princess_ , Bess thought wryly, checking her reflection in the hall mirror. It had been hard to find a summer dress that covered the scars on her back, but she'd eventually found a silk wrap-front dress in L.K. Bennett that did the job. Even on sale, it was well above her usual price range, but she didn't want to let Emma down.

Emma had styled Bess' hair in loose waves and helped with her makeup too. Bess leaned forward, checking the smoky eye shadow in the mirror. It made her eyes look larger and more serious, but she didn't mind the effect. She hadn't exactly transformed from an ugly duckling into a beautiful swan, but she looked okay. A slightly older, more exotic version of herself.

Bess shook out her hair and straightened her shoulders. She couldn't delay any more. She headed down the stairs.

* * *

An hour later, Bess was wondering whether Gordon and Emma would miss her if she slipped back up to bed. It wasn't a bad party, as parties went. In fact, it seemed to be a roaring success. The ground floor was packed full of beautiful people drinking, eating canapes and shouting raucously to each other over the music. The air smelled of sweat, perfume and smoke, with a hint of weed. Bess had already stumbled across two guys making out in the downstairs loo, and a man and a woman more than making out in the back garden, so she'd decided it was safer to stick to the public areas.

Emma was in her element, flitting from one group to another, chatting and air kissing, making everyone feel welcome. Gordon had held up well under the invasion for about half an hour, before retreating to his study with the film's backers to smoke cigars and talk finance.

Bess grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sat on a bench against the wall. She usually liked parties, though it was a while since she'd been to one. She wasn't shy, and quite enjoyed meeting new people over a drink or two. The problem with this party was that everyone was either famous, wanted to be famous, or wanted to talk to someone who was famous.

Emma had seized on her as she came downstairs, kissing her warmly and introducing her to a group of young actors. They'd been gracious to Bess until Emma moved on, at which point they'd started a snide conversation about other actors Bess had never met and was unlikely to ever know.

Bess had tried talking to a few more people, but once they found out she was 'just the nanny' their eyes glazed over and they looked around for someone more advantageous to talk to.

So here she was, the proverbial wallflower, sipping champagne by herself at her first and only showbiz party. She smiled inwardly. To look at her, no one would think that she'd drunk beer out of funnels, danced on tables and done shots on boys' stomachs when she was a fresher at uni. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

A thirty-ish man sat down next to her on the bench and leaned his head against the wall.

'Had enough?' she asked politely.

He laughed. 'Emma's parties can be a bit overwhelming'. She smiled at his Australian accent. He held out his hand. 'I'm George'.

'Bess', she said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, but not sweaty. He wasn't drop dead gorgeous, like Will Darcy, but he had nice eyes, chiselled cheekbones and a cheeky grin. 'You look like an actor', she blurted out.

He laughed again. 'For my sins, I am. I haven't seen you around the traps, though?'

She shook her head. 'I'm not in the business, you don't need to talk to me. I'm an NFP.'

His forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. 'An NFP? A not-for-profit?'

It was her turn to laugh. 'A non-famous-person. I'm Emma's nanny'.

He flashed his grin again and moved a little closer. 'Well, Emma's nanny, it's always a pleasure to meet a fellow Aussie, even if she is an NFP'.

Half an hour later, George had grabbed Bess another glass of champagne, and they were still chatting away, trading stories about their hometowns (he was from Sydney and she from Adelaide) and their experiences of being an Aussie in England.

'Would I have seen you in anything?' Bess asked, wondering why he wasn't more famous. He seemed so _real_ , compared to all the fake people in the room.

A dark cloud passed across his features. 'I've had bit parts in a few low-budget films, but nothing you would have seen. I got on the wrong side of Mr Darcy early in my career, and I've been paying for it ever since'.

'Will Darcy?' Bess asked, shocked.

'Do you know him?' George asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Bess hesitated. She was careful never to discuss her employer with anyone, but she didn't think Will and Emma's friendship was exactly a secret. 'I've met him a few times,' she conceded. 'He's friends with Emma and Gordon'.

'Then you'll know what an arrogant jerk he can be.'

Bess smiled in delight. 'I do know, but I didn't think anyone else did'.

George whispered in her ear. 'Can you keep a secret?'

Bess nodded.

'If more people knew what he'd done to me, he wouldn't be the darling of London society. Listen to this…'


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks everyone for your comments! It seems many of you find Wickham (or Wicked, as one reviewer called him) as tedious and annoying as I do. Don't worry, I won't spend more time on him than I have to. I just need him to get Darcy all worked up and then he can crawl back to where he came from …_

* * *

Darcy was running late for the party. Horribly late.

The shoot had run a full week over, thanks to the damned weather. If he never saw the inside of a dripping, mossy Romanian forest again, it would be too soon.

He'd only landed at lunch time, and barely made it to the first read-through for his new play. He had signed on to play Hamlet in a modern adaptation at the Old Vic and was wondering if he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

Like everyone else, he'd studied Hamlet at university, and thought he knew the play well. This adaptation, however, moved the setting from medieval Denmark to the City, with Hamlet as a newly appointed bank executive who alienates or betrays everyone who cares for him, has a complete breakdown in the fourth act, is admitted to a psych facility and takes his own life after killing several others.

All the death and destruction were completely in keeping with Shakespeare's play, but he hadn't grasped quite how intense it would be until the read-through. He had to disembowel himself emotionally, disintegrate mentally, and remember vast swathes of Shakespearean English. He wasn't a bad actor, but love, joy, shame, jealously, existential dread, madness, homicidal anger and suicidal despair were a lot to get through in three hours. It had gone surprisingly well for a first run through, and the supporting cast were seasoned professionals, but he was drained by the time they were done.

He longed for a shower and a nap, but wasn't going to make the mistake of blowing off the rest of the cast on the very first day of rehearsals. He survived dinner and a beer at the pub with reasonable grace, before excusing himself to go home and change.

Now he was driving round and round Notting Hill in the rain, swearing and looking for a non-existent park. Why on earth he had thought he would find one on a Saturday night, he didn't know. He should have taken a taxi.

Just as he was going to give up, drive back home and catch a cab, a parked Beemer put on its lights and pulled out in front of him. Giving silent thanks to the parking gods, he eased his Aston Martin into the vacant spot.

He was a few blocks from Emma's house. He set off in the rain, clutching a bottle of Penfolds Grange. He was soaking by the time he reached Emma's front door, but at least the weather seemed to have deterred any paparazzi from hanging around.

The hired security guy on the door recognised him and let him in straight away. A wall of noise assaulted his ears. He left his coat with the attendant in the front hall, then plunged into the crowd. Nodding to a few familiar faces, he kept moving, looking for Emma. He wanted to give her the wine and congratulate her on wrapping her shoot. And maybe, ask if Bess was there.

He couldn't find Emma, but after a few minutes the crowd parted a little and he spied Bess seated on the far side of the lounge room. She looked older, with her hair waved and her make up done. Her emerald green dress brought out the colour of her eyes, and the plunging neckline flattered her decolletage. A little thrill went through Will at the sight of her. He shook his head to dispel it, spraying water from his hair like a shaggy dog.

He started to cross the room. He would casually say hello and ask her where Emma was. Perhaps tell her she looked beautiful, as well. He was half way there before he noticed the man talking to her. _George Wickham_. All the breath left his body at once, and he felt a little light headed, before the blood rushed back to his face. _What the fuck was he doing here? In Emma's house? Sitting way too close to Bess, his arm draped casually around the back of the bench?_

His first instinct was to grab Wickham and drag him away, but sanity prevailed at the last moment. The couple were so focused on their conversation they didn't notice Darcy as he pivoted abruptly and headed for the kitchen, more determined than ever to find Emma, and answers.

* * *

'And he did all those terrible things to you just because you're _Australian_?', Bess asked, a little incredulously. She had good reason to know that Darcy didn't like Aussies, but really, it sounded so petty.

'That was only part of it', said Wickham. 'It was a big break for both of us, his first leading role and my first big supporting part. It was natural that we would be rivals'.

Bess frowned. 'Why would he undermine you at every turn, if he had the bigger part?'

George gave a rueful shrug. 'It's a cutthroat business. He thought I had the potential to be the bigger star, so he took the precaution of eliminating the competition'.

Bess examined his face carefully. It all sounded so unlikely, but his look and tone were sincere. 'He really had you thrown off the set, for no reason?'

'Not exactly. You see, there was this girl….'

Bess raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to continue.

He looked around and then edged closer, lowering his voice. His thigh was touching hers. 'She was a junior makeup artist, just starting out. Shy, but sweet, and very pretty. A bit like you.'

Bess blushed and shook her head. She wasn't shy, or sweet, and not that pretty either.

'You'd think she would have been below Darcy's notice', he continued, 'but he's always wanted anything I had. His attentions made her uncomfortable, but she didn't say anything because he was the star of the film. One day I was comforting her in the make up trailer, and Darcy came in and found her in my arms. He went straight to the director and told him it was him or me. One of us had to go'.

'And they picked you?' asked Bess, shocked.

'The production company didn't like it, but in the end they agreed. If Darcy walked, they would have had to re-shoot almost every scene. Far easier to get rid of me and consign my scenes to the cutting room floor'. George shrugged. 'No-one knew why I'd been sacked, but there's always rumours in this industry. People have been reluctant to hire me ever since, lest they get on the wrong side of the all-powerful Will Darcy'.

* * *

'Emma, thank God!' Darcy finally ran her to earth in the kitchen.

'Will, you made it!' she exclaimed, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. 'And you're all wet.'

'Never mind that', he said, shoving the wine at her distractedly. ' _He's_ here'.

'Who's here?' she asked, setting the bottle carefully on the counter.

'George Wickham! He's cuddling up to Bess, no doubt spinning her all sorts of lies. You didn't invite him, did you?

Will's voice rose, and some other guests turned to look at them. Film people were notorious gossips. Emma took Will's damp arm and drew him into the pantry.

'Calm down Will, of course I didn't invite him. He must have come as a plus one. Shall I get security to escort him out?'

'Don't bother, I'll do it myself. You need to get Bess alone and explain to her what a dangerous liar he is'.

Emma examined him closely. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead, he was breathing fast and his cheeks were flushed.

'Will, calm down and think for a minute. I can't do that'.

'Why not?' he cried. 'He'll hurt her, you know he will. It's what he does'.

'I know' said Emma, squeezing his arm comfortingly. 'If I thought she was in any danger, I would interfere, and bugger the consequences. But she's not in the business. They have no reason to ever cross paths again'.

'I don't understand', Will whined, running a hand through his hair. 'Why won't you warn her?'

'I had enough trouble convincing her to come to this party at all, when she doesn't know anyone here. It's bad enough that you're going to throw out the first person she's met. If I follow up with a lecture about staying away from bad boys, she'll think she's done something wrong. I'm her employer Will, not her mother'.

Will stared at her, uncomprehendingly. 'Well, if you won't do something, I will'. He flung out of the pantry and made for the lounge room.

* * *

'I knew he was a bit of a bastard, but I had no idea he'd do something as bad as that', said Bess, holding one hand to her chest.

Will cleared his throat loudly. The couple looked up. Bess started guiltily and made to move away from Wickham. George smiled lazily and draped his arm over Bess' shoulders, pulling her back against his side.

'Ah Darcy, how delightful to see you. We were just talking about you,' Wickham drawled.

'I'm sure you were', Darcy ground out. The sight of George's hand on Bess' bare shoulder made him want to commit violence. She was pale and wouldn't look up at him. _Was Wickham hurting her?_

He took a hard pull on his temper. He had to get George away from her _now_ , without making a scene. Wickham loved a scene.

'If you'll excuse us,' he said, nodding stiffly to Bess, 'George and I need to have a talk'.

'Oh Darcy', George laughed. 'You never did have any manners, did you? If you want to say anything to me, you can say it in front of my charming companion'. He stroked his fingertips lightly down her arm.

'Get your hands off her _now_ ,' Darcy bit off. 'This is her workplace. You can't come in here and make up to her like that'.

Bess brushed Wickham's hand away and stood quickly. Her eyes flashed fire. 'Thank you, Mr Darcy, for reminding me of my place. I'd hate to be _encroaching_. I'll go up now and check on Freya'.

She turned and ran up the stairs, holding the silk skirts of her dress in front of her so as not to trip. He caught a glimpse of strappy high heels and slim, tanned ankles.

'No wait, Bess, I didn't mean it like that…'

He reached out his hand, but she ignored him and kept going.

A slow clap sounded behind him. 'Oh, well done Darcy, well done. You really know how to charm the ladies, don't you?'

Snarling, Will turned back to Wickham and grabbed him by his collar, yanking him up off the bench. He marched the smaller man through the silenced crowd and into the foyer. Emma must have alerted the bouncer, because he was already holding the front door open.

'Go now, or I won't be responsible for my actions', Darcy growled, shoving him through the doorway.

Wickham shook himself free of Darcy's grip and bowed mockingly. 'Don't worry, I was just leaving. My work here is done'.


	10. Chapter 10

_So, when I promised I'd get rid of Wickham as soon as possible, that may not have been exactly true. Because I am a bad person? Or because Wickham is? Either way, please forgive me, and please keep reading and reviewing._

* * *

Darcy sent flowers to Emma. _Sorry for making a scene at your party_ , he wrote on the card. He wanted to include Bess in some way too, but with the florist hovering over him, he couldn't think of the right words. Defeated, he handed back the pen. Probably better to apologise in person, anyway.

Emma called him the next day to thank him for the flowers, and to ask a favour. He returned her call in his lunch break. They were rehearsing full time now, and he was in almost every scene.

'Sure, I'd be happy to babysit Freya on Saturday night, but won't Bess be there?'

'She's going out. She doesn't normally work Saturdays, and she specifically asked for the night off'.

'Who's she going out with?' he asked, concerned.

'It's none of my business, and none of yours either, Will. She's a twenty-four-year-old woman who spends most of her time socialising with a seven-year-old. She's entitled to a night off.'

Will rubbed his face, easing the strain between his eyes. 'Of course she is. Just as long as she's not seeing Wickham'.

Emma laughed. 'I'm sure she's not, after you so spectacularly evicted him from my house'.

He sighed. 'I really am sorry about that, Emma. I should have handled it better'.

'It's not your fault. Wickham's a shit. He wrecks everything he touches'.

'Did Bess say anything about him?'

'No, she's more professional than any of us. She didn't mention it, and I didn't want to pry. I'm sure it's bad enough for her living in her employer's house'.

Darcy tipped his head back to lean against the wall. 'Okay, just so long as Wickham stays away'.

'Don't worry so much, Will. If he ever shows up here again, I'll make sure Bess knows exactly what he's capable of'.

And with that promise, Will had to be content.

* * *

Will arrived at Emma's punctually at seven on Saturday night, clutching a box of chocolates. After much agonising, he'd decided that flowers might send the wrong message, but chocolates could mean almost anything. He hoped these would say _sorry_.

Gordon let him in. He was dressed in a tux and bow tie, but his hair was mussed and his shirt coming untucked. 'They're all in the kitchen, but it's enter at your own risk' he told Will conspiratorially. 'You're welcome to hide out in my study instead, if you prefer'.

'What's wrong?' asked Will.

'Freya', announced Gordon, 'is in _a mood_ '.

Freya was generally a delightful child, if somewhat stubborn. But on the odd occasion, particularly when she was hungry or tired, she'd decide the whole world was conspiring against her, and act accordingly.

Will groaned. 'So, I'm in for a delightful evening, then?'

Gordon chuckled. 'Better you than me!' He patted Will on the back and wandered off down the corridor. Will headed for the kitchen, pausing in the doorway.

Freya was seated at the table, clutching a teddy and looking mutinous. She was still in her day clothes, and her hair was every which way.

Bess was wiping down the table with a cloth, her back to the door. She was wearing skinny jeans and a slinky black top. Her hair was piled up in a messy knot, revealing the nape of her neck. Emma, wearing an evening gown and an apron, was finishing the dishes. No one paid his entrance any heed.

'I don't understand why you can't look after me tonight', Freya whined, rubbing her face in her teddy's fur. 'Everyone's leaving me. No one loves me'.

Bess looked up at Emma, who shrugged and held up her soapy hands.

'Freya', said Bess firmly, pausing in her work. 'I love you very much, and so do your mum and dad. But we are adults, and sometimes adults go out by themselves. Uncle Will is going to look after you tonight.'

Will coughed, and Freya looked up. 'Uncle Will!' she cried. Abandoning the teddy, she ran around the table and leapt into his arms. He just managed to catch her up without dropping the chocolates.

'You love me, don't you Uncle Will? You're the only person who does', she wheedled, nuzzling into his neck.

 _Someone get this child an Oscar_ , he thought.

He patted her back. 'I'm sure that's not true, poppet', he reasoned. 'We all care about you very much'.

'Bess doesn't', she retorted. 'She only looks after me because mummy and daddy pay her. Soon they'll stop giving her money, and she'll go away and never play with me again!'

'Freya Bingley!' Emma shouted, dropping a plate back into the water. 'How dare you talk that way! Go to your room and stay there until you're ready to apologise to Bess.'

Freya wrenched her way out of Will's arms. 'Then I'll stay there forever!' she cried, running through the doorway and slamming the door behind her.

They were all silent for a second, the sound of the slam echoing through a kitchen. Then Bess moved over to the sink to wash out the cloth. Emma dried her hands on her apron.

'Bess, I'm really sorry about that', she said, placing her hand on Bess' shoulder. 'Growing up around actors has given her a flair for the dramatic, but she was completely out of order'.

Bess shook her head. 'It's okay Emma, I know she's just having a bad day. Do you want me to go after her?'

Emma looked up at the clock. 'No, you'll be late for your dinner if you do that. I'll let her cool off for a few minutes, then go to her'.

'Thanks Emma, I appreciate it', Bess said, kissing her briefly on the cheek.

She made for the door, avoiding Darcy's concerned gaze. He thrust the chocolates in front of her as she passed by. 'I brought you these', he said awkwardly.

She glanced down at the chocolates, making no move to take them from Will.

'You know, to say sorry for last weekend, at the party …' he babbled.

She looked up at him then, her eyes hard. 'You needn't have gone to the trouble', she told him. 'I hadn't given it another thought. You'd better keep them to bribe Freya, if you want to have a chance of getting her to bed tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me'.

She pushed past him, accidentally brushing his arm. His whole body leapt to attention. He opened his mouth, searching for something to say, but nothing came out. She started to slam the door too, but at the last second she caught it and eased it closed behind her.

Will shook his head. 'What on earth is wrong with you all today?'

Emma reached for the kettle. 'Let's have a cuppa, and I'll fill you in'.

 _How British we are_ , he thought, sitting down with his steaming cup. _We've had a lovely row, now for a cup of tea._

He wanted to ask why Bess was so mad at him, but thought he probably knew the answer to that one.

'What's up with Freya?' he asked instead.

Emma rolled her eyes. 'Apart from having inherited every one of my dramatic instincts?'

He chuckled. 'Yes, apart from that'.

Emma toyed with her mug. 'You know I've been away for most of the summer?'

He nodded.

'Well, today we explained to Freya that Bess is moving out in a couple of weeks to start university, and it did _not_ go well'.

'She's not staying with you?'

'I offered, of course, but you know how reluctant she is to accept help. Besides, her scholarship comes with discounted student digs. I think she's pretty excited about living with people her own age'.

Will frowned. 'So Freya's right? She won't see Bess anymore?'

'Don't be ridiculous', Emma reprimanded. 'Bess will still babysit for us on weekends, and even if she didn't, I'd still invite her round as a family friend'.

'I don't understand. What's Freya's problem?'

Emma rubbed her temples. 'It turns out, she thought Gordon and I were going to adopt Bess, and she would live with us forever as Freya's big sister'.

Will spat out his tea. 'But that's ridiculous! You're only ten years older than Bess'.

'Nine years, thank you very much! And you're right, it is ridiculous, but Freya feels like everyone in her family is abandoning her.'

 _I'm not abandoning her_ , Will wanted to say, but didn't. That would be pathetic.

'It's a lot for a seven-year-old to deal with, coming on top of the accident and everything', Emma continued. 'Oh shit, look at the time, Gordon and I will be late'. She jumped up from the table and hastily untied her apron.

'Do you have any advice for me tonight?' Darcy asked.

'Bess is right, you're going to need the chocolates', Emma smirked. 'But seriously, don't be too hard on Freya. Hurt people aren't always reasonable. Just give her lots of hugs'.

* * *

'Good night, Uncle Will', said Freya, snuggling down into her bed.

'Good night, poppet' he said, kissing her forehead and tucking the duvet around her. He switched off her bedside lamp.

It had taken half a box of chocolates, as many tissues, two pairs of pyjamas, three trips to the loo and a hundred silly stories about the teddies to get to this point. He prayed she was finally ready to go to sleep. He was exhausted.

'I'm sorry I was rude to Bess', she said quietly in the darkness.

'That's okay, you can apologise to her in the morning'. He ruffled her curls and started to stand up. She caught his hand.

'I didn't mean it, really. I know she loves me. I'm just sad she's leaving.'

'Of course you are pumpkin. But she'll still come and visit you'.

'I know, she promised she would, and mummy did too'. A pause. 'Uncle Will….'

He didn't trust that wheedling tone of voice. What did she want now? Another glass of water? Ointment for a mysterious itch? A pony?

'What is it, Freya?' he asked warily.

'If you married Bess, then she'd be my Auntie Bess, and she wouldn't leave me'.

His heart clenched.

'Don't be ridiculous', he said shortly. 'She's ten years younger than me'.

'But she's very pretty, don't you think Uncle Will?'

'Yes, she's very pretty', he agreed reluctantly.

'And you like her?'

'Yes, I like her,' he replied. It was easier to admit in the dark. He wondered what exactly Freya had observed in his behaviour.

'Then you should marry her,' said Freya emphatically.

'It doesn't work like that poppet. Besides, she doesn't like me very much right now'.

'Why not, Uncle Will?'

He sighed. 'Because I was rude, and I did something stupid.'

'If you've been a poo head, you should say sorry, Uncle Will. You'll feel better afterwards'.

'Maybe I will', he said wryly, giving her one last kiss. 'Now go to sleep'.

He backed out of the room quickly, before she could ask anything else. He leant his forehead against the closed door. Was he seriously taking relationship advice from seven-year-olds now? He needed a drink.

* * *

Bess climbed the stairs to Emma's front door. Wickham followed.

'Thanks for a lovely evening', she lied, turning to face him.

Truthfully, it had been awful. She'd thought they would talk some more about Australia, or London, or anything really, but all George had wanted to discuss was his never-ending list of grievances against Darcy. Yes, Will was a dick, they were agreed on that point. But seriously, there had to be some other topic of conversation.

George had enumerated all the ways he'd been wronged through two courses, dessert, and coffee. The longer the list grew, the less believable Bess found it. Surely no-one could be such an ogre as all that. One man would need several lifetimes to pursue all the vengeance Darcy had apparently pursued against Wickham.

George had signalled the waiter for the bill, then reached into his pocket for his wallet. His surprised expression when it wasn't there had been comically overdone.

'I'm so sorry, Bess, I must have left my wallet at home. Can I treat you next time?' He'd given her his most charming smile.

 _Seriously? He thinks there's going to be a next time?_ 'Don't worry about it, I'll get it'. _Anything to get this dumpster fire of a date over and done with_.

She'd blanched a little when she saw the total of the bill. Had he ordered all the most expensive items on the menu? Thank goodness Emma paid her so generously. She'd counted out a handful of notes and stuffed them quickly into the little plastic folder on the table.

Wickham had insisted on seeing her home on the tube 'for her safety'. It seemed he still had his Oyster card, even though he'd somehow managed to leave the house without his wallet.

And now he was backing her against Emma's front door, going in for the good night kiss.

 _No way, mate_ , she thought, keeping her head down and rummaging in her bag for her door key.

She turned her head to the side as he leant in, so that he connected with her cheek instead. Undeterred, he caught her chin, not gently, and turned her head so that he could kiss her mouth instead. He pushed his tongue between her closed lips, gripping her neck tightly with his other hand.

 _What the fuck?_ thought Bess. She'd worked out by now that Wickham was a tool, but she hadn't imagined he would try to molest her on a public street. She gave up the hunt for her key and pushed against his chest with one hand, trying to get his slobbering face away from hers. With her other hand, she groped behind her for the doorbell, praying that Gordon and Emma were home.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks for all the reviews. You guys are the best!_

 _It seems lots of people are hoping for Darcy to open the door, punch Wickham, and rescue Bess. Which is a great idea, but I'm also like, this is still P &P, and you know we haven't had 'the proposal scene' yet..._

* * *

Will was sitting in the chesterfield in Gordon's study, staring into the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass, when the doorbell rang. Emma often forgot her key, but surely Gordon had his? More likely to be Bess, then. He took a deep breath and put down his whiskey. Time to apologise. Again.

He checked the video intercom monitor, just to be safe. It took him a second to take in what he was seeing. He stormed down the hallway and flung open the door.

* * *

Bess' head was spinning. She was sucking in short, quick breaths through her nose, but she couldn't seem to get enough oxygen. George tasted of booze and cigarettes, and his warm, slimy tongue made her want to gag. His grip was hurting her neck.

She couldn't wait any longer for someone to answer the door. She released the doorbell and brought her second hand back to join the first on his chest. _A good shove down the stairs should do it_.

Just as she started to push, the door gave way behind her, and she fell back onto a solid wall of male chest. She recognised his aftershave immediately. _Darcy. Of course, it had to be Darcy._

His hands came up to catch her, but she spun away from him. _Was she going to be groped by every man in London tonight_? She turned her back to both men, not wanting them to see her distress.

'Wickham', she heard Darcy growl, low and menacing.

'I'll be off now!' George called cheerfully. 'No need to see me out! Thanks for showing me a great time, Bess!'

She felt sick. She needed to get upstairs and have a hot shower. Numbly, she wondered whether Darcy would go after Wickham. She heard the door slam.

'What the hell was that?'

 _So, not going after Wickham then._

She turned slowly, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

'Excuse me?' she asked, struggling for an icy tone.

He took a step towards her and she backed up. He stopped, taking a deep breath before speaking again. His eyes blazed.

'What. Were. You. Doing. Kissing. George. Wickham?' he said in a low growl.

Bess squeezed her arms tightly to try to stop them shaking. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, and Will's words acted like petrol poured onto a bonfire. He thought _she_ was kissing _Wickham_? Was he blind as well as stupid?

'None of your fucking business, is what I was doing,' she spat out.

He recoiled from her anger, but recovered quickly, his facing dropping back into its cold mask.

'What you do on my best friend's doorstep is very much my business. Don't you know there could be paparazzi out there?' He gestured towards the closed door.

'I'm well aware of that, thank you. And if Emma or Gordon have any problems with my behaviour, they have every right to tell me so. But you're not my employer, or my father. It's none of your goddamn business where I go or who I kiss'.

Will took several deep breaths, fighting for control of his temper. He'd planned on apologising to her tonight, not yelling at her. She was right, it wasn't any of his business who she kissed, but seeing her with Wickham made him sick to his stomach.

He ran a hand through his hair. 'I understand, it's none of my business who you date, though I'd beg you not to choose Wickham. I was just suggesting you be a bit more discreet'.

'Discreet? Discreet?' her voice rose higher with each repetition of the word. 'You want me to be _discreet?_ You're the one who threw Wickham out of Emma's house, in front of a party full of gossipy actors and journalists!'

'I know, and I want to apologise for that. I was only trying to protect you. Wickham hurts people'.

'It's funny, he says the same about you,' she fired back, her mouth twisting wryly.

'Wickham says a lot of things you shouldn't believe,' he said coldly.

'Okay, then, why don't you tell me your side of the story?'

Will opened his mouth, then closed it again. _Damn the non-disclosure agreement_. 'I can't talk about it,' he said finally.

Bess threw her arms up in frustration. 'What the hell is your problem? Look, I don't care if you and Wickham want to have a cage fight to the death, just leave me out of it'.

'But I can't leave you out of it,' he bit out. 'You're always here'.

'I work here!' yelled Bess. 'You should know, you're always quick enough to remind me of my place'.

'I don't mean it like that', he defended himself, 'but you're Emma's nanny. I can't ask you out'.

Bess looked at him like he was some kind of maniac. 'Ask me out? Why on earth would you want to ask me out?'

Embarrassed, he looked down at his shoes. 'I don't know, I just can't get you out of my mind. I've told myself you're too young, you work for my best friend, I don't always know what your motives are and you wouldn't have the first clue about dating someone famous, but there's just something about you that really attracts me…' He hesitated, teetering on the edge of laying his heart out before her.

'Well, you needn't trouble yourself to work out what it is, because something about you completely repels me'.

He looked up in shock at her harsh words. She was pale and rigid with anger.

'You, Will Darcy, are the worst snob I have ever had the misfortune to meet. You treat those around you with contempt, unless they're lucky enough to be one of the chosen few. Your disdain freezes every room you enter. You despise me because I'm poor, and Australian, and have to make my own way in the world. What have I done to make you think I'd want anything to do with your money, or your fame? You can have it all to yourself, and I hope it keeps you warm at night'.

He held up a hand to try to ward off the deluge of her anger, but she wasn't finished yet.

'You think I'm an encroaching little colonial, but I live here. This is my job. Why are you always hanging around Emma and her family? It's pathetic'.

There was just enough truth in her words to sting. He

He knew he spent too much time at Emma's, he knew they weren't really his family, but it was the only place in his life where he felt warm. Hurt, he lashed out in return.

'They're not going to adopt you, you know', he sneered. 'You can't choose a new family just because you don't like the one you have'.

All the fight seemed to drain out of her. She stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide. Her face went horribly white, and she crumpled in on herself, like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Fearing she might faint, he grasped her elbow and guided her to sit on the bottom step. She was trembling. _Damn it to hell, when would he learn to curb his tongue?_

'What on earth is going on here?' came Emma's shocked voice behind him. He turned to find her and Gordon standing in the front hall, looking appalled. He hadn't even heard them come in.

Emma pushed him aside and knelt next to Bess.

'Bess, are you okay? What's wrong?'

Bess stared at her for a second, seeming not to understand, before slowly shaking her head as if to clear it. 'I'm ... cold', she managed eventually, shivering hard now.

Emma looked up at Will, her eyes narrowed. 'What the hell happened, Will?'

'I don't know, exactly', he told her. 'We were having a fight, and then she…' he trailed off, indicating Bess' state with his hand.

Emma glared at him, as if to say, _this is not over_ , then turned back to Bess.

'Come on, let's get you into a warm shower, you'll feel much better', Emma coaxed, in her best mum voice. She helped Bess to stand and started to walk with her up the stairs, one arm around her shoulders.

Will made to follow them, but Gordon's hand on his shoulder held him back.

'Better not', said the older man softly. 'Come into my study and have a drink'.

* * *

 _So there it is. Enough of a train wreck for you? I'd love to hear what you think ;-)_


	12. Chapter 12

_I might have said this before, but I just love reading your reviews. It's fascinating to me that everyone is reading the same chapter, but has such varied responses. Some people thought Darcy was as bad as Wickham, others thought Bess and Darcy both gave as good as they got, while some felt sorry for Darcy and thought that Bess had crossed the line._

 _I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, too. Time for some damage control, I think._

* * *

'Nothing for me, thanks', said Darcy as Gordon held up the decanter.

He slumped back into the chesterfield. His head was spinning. How had it all gone so wrong, so fast?

Gordon sat in the chair opposite him, placing his own drink on the side table. He undid his bowtie and leant forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.

'Like to tell me what that was all about, old man?' he asked. His tone was gentle, but his eyes were grave.

Will ran his hand over his face. It was a good question. _What the hell had happened_?

Really, it had all started with Wickham, because _of course it had_ , but he didn't want to tell Gordon what he'd seen on the video intercom. Bess deserved some privacy, after all.

'I don't really want to talk about it', he hedged.

Gordon frowned. 'I can appreciate that, but Bess is my employee, and to some extent, under my protection. She has the right to feel safe at work'.

Will agreed. He couldn't get the image of Bess crumpling, as though he had struck her, out of his mind. He couldn't blame Wickham for that.

'So, I finally got Freya to bed', he started reluctantly, 'and I was sitting here with a drink, just thinking, when the doorbell rang. I checked the monitor and I saw Bess kissing Wickham'.

Gordon's eyebrows rose. 'Kissing George Wickham? That's strange. I'd have thought Bess would have better judgement than that.'

Will shook his head. 'I know, but he can be terribly charming when he wants to be'.

Before Gordon could answer, Emma burst into the study like an avenging fury, without knocking. She was still in her evening gown, but barefoot now, her makeup a little smudged.

'What on earth did you say to her?' she demanded, standing over him, arms on her hips.

'Is she okay?' he countered.

Emma snorted. 'No, she is not okay. I think she's in shock. She looks almost as bad as she did after the accident'.

'Then why did you leave her?'

'She wouldn't let me help her in the shower'.

 _Of course she wouldn't_. She never accepted help, stubborn girl, and he was pretty sure she had hidden the true extent of her injuries from Emma.

'I'll go back as soon as she's out. What did you do to her, Will?'

He honestly didn't know. He'd been rude, certainly, but he still didn't understand why his last comment had had such a terrible effect on her.

'She was kissing George Wickham,' he started to explain.

'Kissing _Wickham?_ '

'On the front doorstep', he continued, 'so I told her to be more discreet...'

'More discreet?' asked Emma incredulously.

 _Was she going to repeat everything he said? This was hard enough to get out once._

'… and she said it was none of my goddamn business'.

'Which it isn't', Emma interjected.

He ignored the interruption. 'So we argued about Wickham's lies, then I told her I couldn't ask her out because she's working for you'.

'What?' exclaimed Emma. 'You asked her out? How did you get there from Wickham's lies?'

'I don't know', he said, shaking his head. The whole argument seemed like a nightmare now, and made about as much sense. 'Anyway, I didn't ask her out, I just told her I was attracted to her. Then I was rude to her'.

'You told her you liked her, then you were rude to her. Will, have you been drinking?' She bent down to sniff his breath.

'Only one whiskey' he said, pulling away from her. 'Anyway, she fired up then, and gave me her unvarnished opinion of my character and behaviour'.

'Good', said Emma.

'I think you two had better see this', Gordon interrupted, sounding grim. He'd gotten up when Emma entered and was seated at his desk, looking at something on his computer.

Will and Emma broke off their argument and gathered round behind Gordon to see the monitor.

He had pulled up that night's CCTV footage from the front steps. He was very careful about security, Will knew. He had good reason to be, with such a famous wife.

The video showed Bess and Wickham locked in a tight embrace. 'We shouldn't be watching this', he said, looking away.

'Oh my God', Emma exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand.

He looked back at the screen. Really looked this time. Wickham was holding Bess' chin, and the back of her neck. She was leaning on the doorbell with one hand, pushing at Wickham's chest with the other. Suddenly, the door opened, and she staggered back into Darcy. For a second, the naked fear on her face was visible before she spun away, turning her back to the camera.

Gordon paused the footage.

Darcy was the first to break the silence. 'I'm going to kill him this time', he ground out, his fists clenching.

'Didn't you notice?' asked Emma incredulously.

'That she'd just been assaulted by George Wickham?' Will shook his head. 'I thought it was consensual. That bastard…'

'But wasn't she upset?' Emma persisted.

'I couldn't tell', said Darcy. 'She had her back to me, and then we started fighting. She seemed a little shaky, but I thought it was just anger…'

He felt sick. He should have been comforting her, making sure she was okay, not yelling at her.

Emma stared at him suspiciously. 'She wasn't angry when we got home, she was broken'.

'I know', Will groaned. 'I said something unkind, but I still don't understand why she reacted like that'.

Emma's eyes narrowed. 'What did you say to her?'

There was no way to repeat this that didn't sound terrible. Better just to get it over with. 'I told you wouldn't adopt her, that she couldn't just join your family because she didn't like the one she had'.

Emma recoiled, and even Gordon looked shocked.

'What?' he said defensively. 'I know it's bad but…'

'You taunted a girl who's lost both her parents? I didn't think you could be so cruel'. Emma was looking at him like she didn't even know him.

The bottom dropped out of Will's stomach. 'What do you mean, lost her parents? Aren't they in Australia?'

'They're _dead_ , Will. You knew that'.

'I did not'.

'I told you, that day at the hospital, before you followed her'.

Will thought back to the conversation in Emma's car. 'You said she had no-one to look after her. I thought you meant in England. I had no idea you meant at all'. _What had he done?_ 'I have to go to her'. He stood up, but Emma pushed him back down into the seat.

'You have to leave her alone, is what you have to do'. Her tone was cold. 'I'm going to check on her. That poor girl, we've been nothing but a plague to her, all of us'. She slammed the door behind her as she left.

Will dropped his head into his hands. 'Oh God, what a mess. I don't know what to do'.

Gordon patted him awkwardly on the back. 'Nothing else you can do tonight, old man. Probably best to head on home'.

Will raised his head. 'Are you throwing me out?' It was no more than he deserved, after all.

'Course not, old chap, you're always welcome here, you know. Might be best to wait a couple of weeks, though, until Bess has gone to uni. I think she's had enough, don't you know', he finished sadly.

Ashamed, Will headed for the door. If he was only going to hurt Bess, it was better for her if he stayed well away.

* * *

 _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

Bess snuggled deeper into her warm bed, pulling the doona up over her ears.

 _Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

She sighed. She'd better turn the alarm off before it woke Freya next door. She stuck one hand out and groped for the snooze button on her phone screen. It would buy her another nine minutes. What a pity there wasn't a button called 'not ever'.

Remembering the previous night, she winced. She didn't know what had come over her. She had never behaved like that in her life. True, she'd had a lot to deal with since she arrived in London, and even before that, but still. Will Darcy seemed to know how to push every single button she had, but that was no excuse. Perhaps all the drama in the house was starting to rub off on her.

She didn't want to go down to breakfast, but putting it off wasn't going to improve matters. Reluctantly, she pushed the doona back and rolled out of bed. She deactivated the snooze and pulled on her dressing gown.

As she padded down the stairs, the smell of coffee floated up to her.

Emma and Gordon were both in the kitchen when she entered. Gordon was reading the newspaper and Emma was working on the crossword.

'Good morning' she said. Gordon looked up and smiled while Emma leapt to her feet.

'Can I get you some breakfast, Bess?'

'Coffee would be heavenly, thanks Emma'.

Bess sat down and reached for the international news section. She skimmed the headlines twice, without absorbing anything.

'Here's your coffee', Emma said brightly, placing a steaming mug on the table in front of her. She looked older in the early morning light. No less beautiful, but Bess could see the small lines of strain around her eyes.

'Thanks, Emma'.

Gordon stood suddenly. 'I'll leave you two ladies to it', he said heartily, heading for the door.

'Emma, I'm so sorry about last night', Bess blurted out, as soon as he'd left.

'No Bess, it was my fault', said Emma, reaching across the table to touch Bess' hand. 'I should have explained about Wickham, that first night, after Darcy threw him out'.

'You knew what he was like?' asked Bess, shocked.

Emma nodded, her eyes filling. _Oh no, not more tears_. Bess leapt up and grabbed the tissues from the counter, pushing the box across to Emma. She took one and blew her nose. 'Will wanted me to tell you everything, but it was so hard to convince you to come to the party in the first place, I didn't want to warn you off for talking to a guy and send you scurrying back upstairs…'

 _Darcy did a good job of that himself_ , Bess thought wryly. 'I understand, Emma', she said, sitting back down, 'but why didn't Will tell me himself? I asked him last night', _actually, more like yelled at him_ , 'and he said he couldn't talk about it'.

'He signed a non-disclosure agreement, so he really can't', Emma explained, composing herself. 'But I can, if you'd like me to'.

'Yes please', said Bess simply. She sipped her coffee, savouring the first hit of caffeine. Emma began to talk.

The story started out the same as Wickham's. Darcy had been cast in his first lead, opposite Emma, with Wickham in a supporting role. Wickham was a bit too free and flirty with the women on set, and Darcy disapproved, so they didn't exactly hit it off. Plus, Emma had to admit, Darcy could be a bit of a snob. Still, personality conflicts were nothing unusual on a film set, and the shoot was going well, until Darcy walked in on Wickham trying to rape one of the makeup girls in a trailer.

Bess spat out her coffee. 'He what? Emma, are you sure? Wickham said Darcy was jealous…'

'You're forgetting, I was there. I mean, not there while it was happening, but straight afterwards, because Will called me to come and look after the girl. She was distraught. She was only nineteen, just starting out, and she'd enjoyed flirting with Wickham, but she wasn't expecting him to just jump her like that. She had a few bruises...'

Bess shivered, remembering Wickham's cruel hands on her chin and neck.

… and she was almost hysterical. She sobbed in my arms for ages, while Darcy paced around the trailer, scowling. When she finally calmed down a bit, I tried to convince her to go to hospital for a check-up, but she begged us not to tell anyone. She said she'd never work again if word got out'.

'Emma, that's terrible'. _That poor girl_. The forced kiss had been bad enough, she didn't want to imagine what more would feel like.

'I know, but that's the film industry. This was before #metoo, and even now, it's often the woman whose career is destroyed, even if she was the victim'.

'So you just left it at that?'

'No, of course not', said Emma, looking hurt. 'I had no idea what to do, but while Will had been pacing, he'd come up with a plan. He got her agreement before we sent her home with a friend. Then he went straight to the producer and director and told them he had seen Wickham assaulting a staff member, and they needed to ban him from the set'.

'And they just accepted that?'

'No, they didn't want to take any action, especially because Will wouldn't name the staff member. Things got pretty heated, and Will told them he'd walk if they didn't fire Wickham. They were furious, but in the end they agreed because they'd have to re-shoot too much of the film if Will quit'.

'Wasn't that a big risk for him?'

'Huge', agreed Emma. 'It almost ended his career. As it was, he was in breach of contract, so they fined him his entire salary. Plus they made him sign a non-disclosure agreement to hush it all up, which is why he never talks about it'.

'But I thought he bought his car with his pay check from his big break?'

Emma shook her head. 'No. The film was a huge hit, which was probably the only reason Will got more work, but he never saw a penny from it. He didn't buy the car until his next leading role'.

Bess slumped down in her chair. 'And I accused him of being as bad as Wickham. Emma, I'm so sorry. If you want me to finish up early, I'll understand'.

'Bess, don't say that. You couldn't have known the truth about Wickham, because I didn't tell you. It's not your fault'.

 _But you don't know the half of what I said to him_ , thought Bess, twisting the corner of the newspaper. She'd misjudged him completely. _The next time he comes round, I'll apologise for everything_ , she promised herself.


	13. Chapter 13

_Poor Will and Bess, I've left them hanging for a long time! I hope this nice long chapter will make up for it. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, but especially to Kettle Logic who reached out and encouraged me to get Will and Bess moving beyond their misunderstandings._

* * *

Will strode loudly up the stairs and through the wings.

'I hear him coming: let's withdraw, my lord', said Polonius, taking King Claudius by the elbow and leading him off stage right.

Will entered from stage left and stopped in the single spotlight.

'To be, or not to be: that is the question', he said quietly, to his shoes.

Well no, that really wasn't the question. Fortunately, he wasn't suicidal, although otherwise he was feeling about as shit as he ever had.

'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them?'

That was a much better question. Was it better ignore Wickham's lies and slurs, or to fight back?

The words of Hamlet's soliloquy poured out of him, as though they'd been written just for him.

'… to sleep: perchance to dream …'

He used to enjoy dreaming of Bess, but now his dreams ended with her getting hurt, by him or by Wickham, it was all of a piece…

'… the pangs of despised love…'

He thought he could love Bess, and she despised him. He remembered the scorn on her beautiful face as she refused his pathetic box of chocolates.

And here she came now, the fair Ophelia, to return his letters.

'Are you honest?' he asked her. Why did he do that? Why was he questioning her integrity? Every word and action showed her to be a good person.

He'd never understood this scene before. Why _was_ Hamlet such a bastard to Ophelia? Some critics thought he was really angry at his mother for marrying his father's murderer, others that he knew Ophelia was spying on him for Claudius and Polonius. They had never felt like sufficient explanations to Will. No, the truth was, you didn't really know why you said or did half the things you did, until one night you found yourself in the front hall at your best friend's house, shouting at the girl you should be caring for, lashing out, reducing her to a ghost.

'We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.'

That was the best solution, surely. Wickham would hurt her, he would hurt her. Bess was better off out of it. The thought of never seeing her again twisted his guts. He struck at Ophelia with his words, wanting her to feel the same pain.

'If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.'

Ophelia, pale and shaken, backed away from his cruel words, just as Bess had done.

Disgusted with himself, he bade her farewell and stormed off.

* * *

Bess hesitated outside the door with the peeling red paint. She was in the alley 'round the side of the Old Vic. It smelled of rotting garbage and cigarette butts. Was this the stage door? Would the actors come out here at the end of rehearsal? She'd tried the main theatre doors, but they were locked. She sighed. She had no idea how any of this worked.

She'd waited a week and a half for Will to drop round, but he hadn't. She knew he wasn't out of the country, because Emma had mentioned he was deep in rehearsals for Hamlet. Freya was back at school, and Bess was starting uni the following week. Time was running out to deliver the apology she'd practised so many times in her mind. So here she was, hanging round in an alley like a desperate groupie.

Summoning her courage, she knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing a man with short grizzled hair and glasses, wearing a black turtleneck. 'Can I help you?' he asked doubtfully.

'I'm looking for Will Darcy'. The man's eyebrows rose. 'Is he working today?'

'No autographs', he said, starting to close the door. 'You can try after a performance when the play opens next month'.

'No, wait' said Bess putting a hand out to hold the door. 'I don't want an autograph. I know him. A bit'. _Oh hell, she was making a mess of this_. 'I work for Emma Bingley', she finished lamely.

'I can give him a message', he said finally. 'They should be through in about fifteen minutes'.

'That's okay, I can wait. Please tell him Bess Bennett is here'.

'I'll tell him'. The man stared pointedly at her hand until she removed it. The door closed firmly in her face.

Xxxxx

'Thanks everyone, great work today. Make sure you're back here at nine tomorrow. We'll start blocking out act three, scene two'.

The cast gathered up their belongings and headed for the stage door.

'Will, could you stay behind a minute?'

Will dropped his bag and turned back.

'Is there a problem?' He was completely drained. If he was going to get a bunch of negative notes, he'd rather hear them in the morning.

The director slapped him on the back. 'Will, that was incredible. That scene has been done to death, it's almost a parody of itself, but what you did today was _real_ '.

'Thanks' said Will, uncomfortable with the praise.

'I had no idea you had it in you'.

Will frowned. 'Why did you cast me then?'

The director grinned. 'Because you're good looking, and your name is good box office. Please don't take offence'.

Will shrugged. 'None taken. It's a business, I understand'.

'If you turn in a performance like that on opening night, we're going to have a smash hit on our hands'.

'Let's hope so', said Will, turning to leave. 'Theatre critics are a fickle bunch'.

Gus, the stage door hand, stopped him on the way out.

'A girl came looking for you. I would have sent her on her way, but she said she knew you'.

'A girl?' Will's stomach dropped as though he was on a roller coaster. 'Did she leave her name?'

'Bess, I think she said. Something about a message from Emma Bingley'.

Swearing, Darcy pushed past him and into the alley.

* * *

Bess checked her phone clock for the hundredth time. Five fifteen. She'd been waiting half an hour. The wind picked up, raising goose bumps on her bare arms. She'd stupidly worn her nicest summer dress and taken extra time with her hair. Will Darcy clearly didn't want to see her, so it didn't matter what she looked like. Grey clouds were forming overhead. So much for the last week of summer. She'd give it five more minutes, then leave.

Five twenty. A bunch of people left by the stage door, looking at her curiously, but no Will. It was starting to drizzle, flattening her hair and dampening her dress. This had always been a stupid plan. Time to go home. She started to walk back up the alley.

'Bess, wait!' She'd know that deep voice anywhere. Suddenly shy, she turned slowly.

He ran to catch up with her. He was wearing jeans, t-shirt and a jacket, and looking gorgeous as usual.

He grasped her upper arm gently. His fingers were strong and warm against her chilled skin. 'You're cold'. He frowned. 'Have you been waiting long?'

Bess shrugged. 'A little while'.

'Gus only just told me you were here. I don't know what he was thinking to leave you standing around outside like that'.

He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It was far too big for her and smelled like leather and Will Darcy. She pulled it close around her, savouring the warmth imparted from his body.

'Don't be cross at him, I'm sure he thought I was just another groupie looking for an autograph'. Will scowled.

 _This was so awkward._

'Look, I really should go, this was a stupid idea'.

'Please stay', he said abruptly. He reached out his hand to her again, then seemed to think better of it and dropped it back to his side. 'Gus said you had a message for me? From Emma?' he continued more gently.

She flushed. 'Not really a message. More of an apology'.

More silence.

'I'd rather not do this here', he said finally. 'Do you have time for a beer? There's a good pub just down the road'.

 _A beer? Sure, why not. Maybe the alcohol would help with the nerves._

'Thanks, I'd like that', she told him.

He smiled. _Will Darcy actually smiled!_ 'We'd better make a run for it', he said, looking up at the darkening clouds.

The drizzle was coming down harder, so she pulled his jacket up over her head, and ran after him.

* * *

Will held the door of the pub open for her. They were both damp and panting a little from the run.

She read the lettering on the front of the pub. 'The Stage Door. Really?'

He ushered her inside. 'They get a lot of actors here. I don't think anyone will bother us'.

He steered her through the after-work crowd with a hand in the small of her back. He almost wished he hadn't given her his jacket, but he couldn't ignore her shivers. Her thin cotton dress was damp and moulded to her body. If the leather wasn't in the way, he knew he'd be able to feel the smooth, supple curve of her back.

He seated Bess in a corner booth and asked what she'd like to drink.

'A half of whatever's on tap, thanks,' she replied.

Will was like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for the barman to serve him. Why had Bess come? What if she changed her mind and left while he was getting drinks? How long did it take to pull two beers?

The barman finally put the glasses on the mat in front of Will. 'Keep the change' said Will, dropping a twenty-pound note on the bar and grabbing the beers.

'Cheers, guv', said the barman gratefully.

He pushed back through the crowd and was relieved to see Bess where he'd left her. She was playing with her phone, and he took a moment to study her. Her hair was twisted in a knot, with a few damp tendrils curling softly around her face. Her lashes veiled her eyes as she looked down, and he thought there were dark shadows underneath them. Had she been sleeping as badly as him? Had nightmares of Wickham kept her awake? Or perhaps of him?

'I got you a Mad Goose ale', he said, setting the beer down and sitting opposite her. 'I hope that's okay'.

She took a sip and smiled, wiping the foam from her top lip. 'Lovely'.

She took his jacket off and held it out to him.

'No, keep it, you're cold', he said.

'It's much warmer in here', she said. 'Besides, you need it more than I do. Your t-shirt is almost see-through'.

Reluctantly, he took it and shrugged into it. _She doesn't want it_ , he told himself sternly. _She doesn't want any part of you_.

The silence stretched. _Say something, you idiot_.

'I wanted to tell you…' he started.

'I'm so sorry...' she spoke at the same time, then broke off.

'Please, you go first', he said.

She looked down at her beer. 'I'm so ashamed of the way I spoke to you the other night. It was unforgivable. Emma's told me all about Wickham now, but even if she hadn't, I should have known better than to believe anything he said'.

Darcy was stunned. She was apologising to him? After everything he'd done to her?

She picked up the beer coaster and began to tear it. 'I don't know what came over me. It's no excuse, but I'd had a rough time…'

'Getting hit by a train? Being mauled by Wickham? Dealing with a pompous ass who should have been making sure you were okay, instead of lecturing you about discretion? Bess, you're not the one who should be saying sorry'.

'Please, let me finish'. The coaster was turning into a pile of shredded cardboard in front of her. 'I was shaken, and furious at Wickham, but he'd gone, so you got both barrels. I could have told you that he'd forced himself on me, but I picked a fight instead. When I think of the terrible, unfounded things I said to you, I just writhe in shame…'

Indeed, she was writhing in her seat as she spoke. He placed his hand over hers, stilling her fidgeting.

'Bess, look at me, please'. Reluctantly, she looked up, her eyes wary.

'You have nothing to apologise for. I've been an unmitigated ass to you, ever since we first met. I deserved everything you said of me, and more'.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

'I want to say sorry for almost everything I've ever said to you, but especially, for that comment about your family. You have to believe me, I had no idea your parents were dead when I said it'.

Her hand flinched under his, and he reluctantly let go.

'It's okay', she said softly. 'Once I'd calmed down, I realised you never would have said that if you'd known'.

'What happened?' he asked impulsively. 'To your parents, I mean?'

She frowned, reaching for her beer and taking a sip. The crowd in the pub was noisy, but in their little booth the silence stretched.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I didn't mean to upset you. Forget it, it was thoughtless of me'.

She smiled sadly. 'It's okay, time passes, and I don't mind talking about it'.

He nodded, trying to look sympathetic and encouraging.

She reached for another coaster and started mangling it. 'My mum was diagnosed with cancer when I was in first year uni. My dad didn't cope so well, so I missed a lot of tutes and lectures taking her to appointments and chemotherapy. My tutors were really good about letting me do make-ups. She was sick on and off until the end of my third year, then she really went downhill. So I deferred my honours year and looked after her full time.'

'Didn't anyone help you?' he asked indignantly.

'Oh, yes, the district nurse visited, and my sister Jane did what she could, but she was busy with her new baby'.

'What about your father?'

'He was so afraid of losing her that he wasn't much use. For the most part, he shut himself up in his study and pretended it wasn't happening'.

 _So everything had been left on Bess' shoulders._ 'How old were you?'

Bess counted on her fingers. 'Eighteen when she got sick, twenty-one when she died'.

 _So young._ 'And then what happened?'

'I went back and did my honours year in psychology, but I didn't move out of home. Dad was so lost without mum. He died a week after I submitted my thesis, of a massive coronary. I guess you could say he died of a broken heart'.

Her eyes were shining with tears, and she was biting her bottom lip to stop it trembling. He quickly passed her his handkerchief. 'Bess, forgive me. I didn't mean to make you cry'.

She wiped her eyes and handed the white linen square back. 'It's okay. It's a relief to tell someone about it. Most people avoid the topic'.

He nodded. _Did that mean she wanted to keep talking about it?_

'What happened after your father died?'

'I was numb. I couldn't believe it had happened again. It's easier to organise a funeral the second time around, did you know that? You can pick out a casket much quicker when you've seen them all before'.

He shook his head. He'd never had to organise a funeral.

'Anyway, I got a job in a book store, to try to keep the house, but the bank wouldn't transfer the mortgage to my name, so we had to sell it'.

'When my honours supervisor contacted me about the scholarship opportunity for the London School of Economics, it seemed like an answer to prayer. I'd been planning on doing clinical psychology, but they don't recommend that if you've been recently bereaved, so I applied for the Masters in Organisational Psychology, and I got it'.

 _And he'd accused her of being mercenary._

'You're incredible'. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, it just slipped out.

'I'm not. Selfishly, I'm just looking forward to a year when I don't have to look after anyone but myself. All I have to do is study, swim, babysit occasionally, and hang out with friends. It sounds like heaven'.

 _And no place for him?_ Will tossed back the rest of his beer to hide his hurt.

Bess reached for her phone. 'Oh no, look at the time. I have to run. I promised I'd be back before seven to watch Freya. Thanks for the drink'.

Will stood, reaching for his composure. 'At least let me drive you home'. She opened her mouth, probably to refuse, but he cut her off. 'It's still raining, and you don't have an umbrella'.

She searched his face. 'Thanks. I'd appreciate it'.

* * *

The peak hour traffic was heavy. The car lights reflected off the puddles in the road, and the edges of the windscreen fogged up. He turned up the heating.

'Warm enough?' he asked Bess.

'Lovely, thanks'.

They'd driven most of the way home in silence, but Will didn't find it awkward. Having Bess beside him was such a pleasure, one he might not experience again, that he wanted to savour every moment. He glanced over at her, but she was looking out the window, away from him.

 _What if it's awkward for her?_ Just because he enjoyed silence, it didn't mean other people did. He cast around for a conversation starter, but she beat him to it.

'You didn't let me finish my apology'.

He groaned. 'We've been over this. You can't possibly have anything else to be sorry for'.

'But I do'. She turned to look at him. 'What I said to you about hanging around Emma's family, I'd give anything to take it back. You're her oldest friend, and I'm an employee who's only been there for five months. I was so far out of line'.

'But you weren't wrong. I do hang around Emma's family a lot, and it is weird'. _How much to explain?_ Bess had honoured him with her confidences about her family, but he never talked about his, and besides, they were only a block from Emma's house in the crawling traffic.

'I don't come from a loving family, and my father and I are not close' he said, choosing his words carefully. 'Emma's house is the nearest thing I have to a family home, and when she told me that Freya wanted to adopt you, I was jealous. That's why I lashed out like I did'. _Great job Will, now she'll definitely despise you._

'You're already part of the family', Bess said softly. 'You behave like a real uncle to Freya, not just an honorary one. And you're like a brother to Emma'.

Her words warmed him.

'Then you forgive me?'

'Only if you forgive me.'

'Deal'.

Suddenly, she started to laugh.

'What's so funny?' he asked warily.

'I'm apologising to you, and you're apologising to me, and Emma has apologised about seventeen times, and do you know who caused most of the trouble and would never apologise for anything?'

'Wickham?' he asked.

'Yes, Wickham. Creepy, rapey fuckwit Wickham. So I think we should all cut ourselves some slack'.

'Agreed'.

He pulled to a stop in front of the Victorian terrace. 'Are you coming in?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'I'd better not. Gordon asked me not to visit again until you've moved out'.

'But that's terrible' she said, aghast. 'I have to fix it. Come in with me now and I'll tell them just how awful I was'.

'Don't do that, you know it's not true', he said. 'I'm sure I'll see you from time to time, at Sunday lunch, or with Freya. All the best for this year, Bess'. He longed to kiss her goodbye, but she'd had more than enough of that from Wickham. He settled for an awkward handshake.

'See you, Will. Thanks for the ride, and for, well, everything'.

He waited until she had let herself into the house before pulling away from the kerb.

She'd been nothing but kind to him today, but he could read between the lines. She had never once mentioned his bumbled attempt to ask her out. Plus, she'd made it clear that this year was just for her. God knew, she'd earned it. So he'd honour her wish, and leave her alone. If, by some miracle, she was still single when she graduated, perhaps he could start over then.


	14. Chapter 14

_Hi everyone! Long time no write. Does anyone still remember this story? Hopefully the train wrecks (literal and metaphorical) are distinctive enough to give you some recollection of the plot. Thanks for all your great reviews, and especially to jesskmemmy, myAdamisinheaven and AmandaH109 for reaching out recently to encourage me to keep going._

* * *

Will flopped down onto the couch in his dressing room and reached for the beer his dresser had left out for him. What a shemozzle of a day. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong, from Polonius fluffing his lines and Ophelia getting the giggles, to Will tripping down the stairs, to one of the stagehands letting a flat down early from the flies and nearly braining them all. The director had been apoplectic and had made them restart the whole run through as punishment. Will prayed the dress rehearsal would be less of a clusterfuck.

There was a leisurely knock on the door.

'Who is it?', called Will reluctantly.

'It's Dick. May I come in?' replied a plummy baritone voice.

Richard Copeland was a legend of British theatre. He was playing Polonius, and they were damn lucky to have him.

'Of course', called Will, swinging his feet down to the floor and sitting up.

'Thanks, old man', said Dick, opening the door and crossing over to Will. He was wearing an elaborate brocade dressing gown over his clothes, and his white hair stuck up in tufts. He patted Will on the shoulder. 'Rough day?' he enquired sympathetically.

'You know it was', said Will ruefully. 'Can I offer you a beer?'

'Don't mind if I do', said Dick, sinking gracefully onto the sofa.

Will fetched a beef from the bar fridge in the corner, opened the bottle, and passed it to the older man before joining him on the sofa.

'You're doing a great Hamlet, young man', Richard started.

Will waited, wondering where this was going.

'Haven't seen the like of it in years'.

Will waived his hand as if to deflect the praise. 'It's a good part to tear a cat in', he demurred.

Dick nodded. 'Aye, I could see you doing that, lusty young man that you are. Full of passion'.

Will gave him the side eye. Surely he hadn't come by to hit on him?

Dick laughed. 'Don't look so worried, I know you don't play for my team. An old man can still enjoy the view though, can't he?'

'Of course', said Will. It was the theatre, after all. No point being a prude.

'You're giving it everything out there, it's wonderful to see…' continued Dick.

'But?' asked Will. There was always a but.

'You might want to save something for opening night. Keep a bit of juice in the tank'.

Will nodded. He knew he'd been letting loose in rehearsals, but it was the only outlet he had for his confused and violent feelings about Wickham, Bess and the whole damn mess.

'Got a particular girl in mind, don't you, in the Ophelia scenes?' asked Richard suddenly, changing tack.

Will stared at him stonily. Dick might be a legend of the stage, but he was also an inveterate gossip. He wasn't about to unburden his soul to him.

Dick laughed again. 'Aye, terribly proud and reserved, aren't you, when you're not on stage?'

Will cocked one eyebrow.

'No need to make that haughty face at me, young man. You keep your secrets. Your Hamlet is all the better for it.' The old man took a pull on his beer. 'Is she coming on opening night, this girl of yours?'

Will shook his head.

'Have you asked her?'

'No', said Will shortly.

'Why on earth not?'

Will sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. 'It's complicated'.

'Well, you should ask her. Just think what spice it would give to your performance'.

 _Could he really do it?_ Will thought, turning the idea over in his mind. He'd sworn to leave her alone for this year, but surely one performance couldn't hurt. He was sorely tempted.

'Maybe I will', he said slowly, exhaustion falling away from him at the thought of seeing her again.

Richard rose to leave, taking the beer with him. 'Take some advice from an old man. Do it now before you lose your courage'.

Will stared at his phone for five minutes, before giving in to temptation and calling Emma.

'Hey Emma, just checking you and Gordon are still coming to opening night?'

'Of course we are, we wouldn't miss it for worlds.'

'Could you do me a favour?' he asked.

'Anything for you, Will'.

'Could you ask Bess as well?'

There was an awkward silence on Emma's end. He rushed to fill it.

'I apologised to her the other day when I dropped her home. We're not on such bad terms anymore. I don't think she'd mind if you asked'.

'She was going to babysit Freya for us', Emma finally answered, 'but I can try to get someone else if Bess wants to come'.

'Please', said Will. 'I'd really like you to ask her'.

'Okay, I'll ask', agreed Emma.

'And Emma?' he continued. 'Can you do one other thing for me?'

'What is it?' she asked warily.

'Don't tell me if she's coming or not. I don't want to know. Just the thought that she might be out there in the audience will be enough'.

Emma sighed. 'Oh Will, you've really got it bad, haven't you?'

'I have', he admitted, 'but I've promised myself I won't intrude on her studies. Just ask her for me?'

'Fine, I'll ask. But I won't push'.

'Thanks Emma, you're a friend in a million'.

* * *

The muted roar of the crowd brought him back to his senses. He hadn't driven the girl he loved to his death and murdered six other people. He hadn't hung himself with a bed sheet. He wasn't Hamlet. He was Will.

The stage hands rushed towards him. One wheeled a block from stage left to support his feet, while the other quickly set up a step ladder to remove the makeshift noose from around Will's neck and undo his safety harness. 'Okay, Will?' he asked, concerned.

Freed of the noose, Will shook his head to clear it. 'Okay? Yes, I'm fine, thanks'.

'They're going wild out there' said the stagehand.

He was right. The audience were clapping and cheering with a most un-British enthusiasm. When Will joined hands with the rest of the cast and the curtain went up for the first call, the noise hit him in the face. Bowing low, he stole a glance at his fellow actors. They looked as stunned as he felt.

He lost count of how many curtain calls they took. Five? Six, maybe? The standing ovation went on and on. He tried to leave the stage after the last one, but well-meaning hands pushed him out between the gap in the curtains. 'It's your time, son', Richard bellowed in his ear. 'Besides,' he continued wryly, 'they'll riot if you don't go back out there'.

So Will found himself standing in front of the red velvet curtain by himself, bowing and bowing, willing the crowd to calm down. They were stamping and hollering, throwing flowers on stage, he even thought he saw some underwear. He tried to make out the individual faces, to see whether Bess might be there, but the glare of the footlights made it impossible.

He motioned the director up on stage to receive his share of the applause, made one last gesture of thanks to the crowd, and beat a hasty retreat. The entire cast seemed to have crammed themselves into his dressing room, all talking at once and high as kites from the incredible reception.

Will's dresser seized him and pushed him into a chair to remove his makeup. Will went thankfully. Some kind soul handed him a whisky.

'We're a hit, I tell you' Richard cried, toasting the room. 'Even David Janes from the Times was on his feet at the end'.

'Bollocks, 'called someone else. 'You know he never gives standing ovations'.

'Well, he did tonight', replied Richard, undaunted.

Everyone kept slapping Will on the back, making it hard to get his makeup off. His dresser eventually managed to clear the room so he could get changed, but then the banging on the door started.

The door opened a crack and Gus, the stage door hand, slid through before deftly closing it behind him.

'People here to see you, Will'.

'Who, exactly?' asked Will. He was still dark at Gus for leaving Bess standing in the rain that day.

'Everyone, that's who', said Gus unhelpfully. Will glared at him.

'Press, well-wishers, rich nobs, Emma Bingley...'

'Emma's here?' Will cut him off eagerly. 'Is she alone?'

'No, she's got that paunchy old husband of hers with her. Can't think what she sees in him myself. Oh, and that girl what brought the message a few weeks ago. Scrubs up alright, that one does.'

He refused to rise to Gus's bait. _She was here_. 'I'll see them first, thanks', he said, striving for a casual tone.

He checked his face anxiously in the mirror, wiping away the last traces of sweat and grease paint. Did he smell? Oh well, no time to do anything about it now.

He stood as Emma burst into the room and made to hug him. Gordon, as always, hung back. But Bess was the quickest of all. He barely had time to admire her black evening dress and heels before she was on him, pounding him in the chest.

'You bastard!' she exclaimed as she hit him.

Shocked, he looked at Emma for clarification. What on earth had he done now? She glared back at him.

'You didn't like it?' he ventured.

'Didn't like it? Didn't _like_ it?'. Bess' voice rose agitatedly. 'Will, Emma and I only had two tissues and one hanky between us, and we wept buckets. _Buckets_. And not dainty tears, either, ugly crying. How could you?'

Now that she mentioned it, both women did look a bit red around the eyes. He looked to Gordon for help, but he just shrugged as if to say, _you're on your own, old chap_.

'Then you were moved?', he asked, catching Bess's hands between his to still them.

'Moved? Will, that was so raw, so honest, so real…' she shook her head, unsatisfied with her words. 'I don't understand how you could expose yourself like that, in front of all those people. You're such a private person'.

'It's called acting, Bess', he said, taking refuge in wit.

'But you weren't acting, were you?' she said, solemn eyes looking up into his. 'Not really. You _were_ Hamlet. All that madness, and pain, and suffering. You were so vulnerable. And then when you hung yourself...'

She broke off, too choked up to continue. Fresh tears glistened on her blackened lashes.

So she did understand what it was like for him. Somehow, he'd known she would, if only she'd come and watch the performance. He was elated. She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her scent. It would be so easy to pull her into his arms, to soothe and comfort her. But she was still arguing…

'And you're going to do that six times a week, tear yourself apart like that…'

'Eight times a week, actually', he interrupted. 'You forgot the matinees'.

'Eight times a week', she repeated, horrified. 'How can you?'

'But you thought it was good?' he countered, bringing her hands up as though to kiss them.

'Will, it was incredible. You must know that. The crowd, that ovation, surely that can't be normal?'

'Of course it's not normal', Emma interrupted, pulling him away from Bess and into a hug. 'I knew you had it in you, Will'. She squeezed him tightly around his waist. 'David Janes was wiping his eyes, I'm sure he was. Once the reviews hit the press, everyone in London will be clamouring for tickets'.

Will put Emma away from him and shook his head. Everything felt unreal, everything except Bess. And she was already moving away from him, being ushered towards the door by that gobshite Gus, who had just let a whole bunch of VIPs into the room.

He made to follow her, but Emma held him back. 'Not now, Will' she said quietly. 'Your public is waiting. You've pulled off this amazing thing, all of you, and everyone from the director down to the apprentice stagehand is relying on you not to bollocks it up.

He hesitated. She was right. They might have loved the performance, but the press and the people-who-mattered could easily turn on him if he snubbed them now.

They were pushing towards him, but he was tall enough to see over their heads to where Bess had paused in the doorway. Their eyes met, and she gave him a small, private smile. 'Well done', she mouthed, and then she was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

_Two chapters in a week! I hope you're proud of me. Thanks to all you wonderful reviewers for keeping me on a roll._

* * *

The play's schedule was brutal. Eight performances a week: six evenings and two matinees. He arrived home after one a.m. each night and fell into bed, exhausted. On matinee mornings he woke at eight, barely leaving time for a shave and a shower before he was due back at the theatre. The other days were a little better: at least he could sleep in, make lunch, get some exercise and remind himself what daylight looked like.

He went to the gym as often as he could, in case Bess was swimming there, but he never saw her. When he finally asked Emma about it, she said that Bess had joined the uni swim club and asked Emma to cancel her gym membership.

His social life shrunk to the odd beer with the cast and crew. He had Mondays off, when most people were at work. He lost weight, and the makeup people had to add colour back into his face for the stage. They were playing to full houses every night, but Will felt he was starting to disintegrate, just like Hamlet. He longed for the normality of a Sunday roast at Emma's, but matinees made that impossible.

He hadn't seen Bess since opening night. She wasn't living at Emma's anymore, and he didn't think she'd appreciate it if he showed up unannounced at her student residence. Emma said she was settling in well. What if she'd already met someone else?

He wondered if Bess ever thought about him. He replayed their terrible argument frequently in his mind. Each time, he was more horrified by his words. He wished he could forget her look of shocked hurt when he'd lashed out at her.

He had happier memories of Bess too: playing Twister, teasing him with smarties, sharing a beer with him at the pub, congratulating him (in her unique way) in his dressing room. Some nights, when he slid, exhausted, into his cold bed, he wondered what it would be like to have a snuggly, warm Bess waiting for him. He had vivid dreams about her, too, dreams which he did his best to forget during his waking hours. He was ten years older than her, for goodness sake. He needed to get a grip.

Three months went by in a haze of performances, before Emma finally took pity on him and threw him a bone. Bess needed a fill in for her Monday night quiz team and had asked Emma to recommend an actor who 'knows about Shakespeare and Academy Award winners'.

'I can do it', he told Emma over the phone. 'You know I can'.

'It's at a pub', Emma warned. 'Bess won't be happy if you leave halfway through to avoid autograph hunters. She's the team captain and takes it very seriously'.

'I can handle it. I haven't seen her in three months. I'll make it work'.

* * *

The following Monday evening he entered the pub in Islington at exactly eight o'clock. He didn't want to be early and attract attention, but he didn't want to be late and displease Bess either.

The pub was just the kind he liked: timber panelling, a wood fire, old leather seats worn to the perfect level of comfort. Tables of ten had been lined up across the room, and most teams were already seated. He quickly located Bess in the crowd. Her hair was twisted in a knot with a pen jammed through it to hold it in place, and she was wearing an oversized knitted jumper and skinny jeans. She looked happier, and healthier, than he had ever seen her.

He crossed the room to her table and cleared his throat behind her. She turned and did a double take.

'Will?' she asked incredulously. She didn't look happy to see him.

 _Damn_. Maybe he shouldn't have come.

'Emma sent me,' he explained. 'She said you needed an actor to fill in on your team'.

'A _non-famous_ actor', Bess replied. 'I was very specific about that. Who was she going to send if I asked for someone famous? Sir Laurence Olivier?'

'I think he's dead', said Will dryly. 'Do you want me to go?'

'No, it's fine, stay', said Bess. 'I just hope you don't start a riot'.

Bess' teammates were goggling at him in amazement. A few of them got up at once to offer him their seat, and he unashamedly chose the chair next to Bess.

'Let me introduce you to everyone', she said quickly. The team was a United Nations of LSE students, apparently. Their sport expert was a guy from India, a girl from Malaysia took care of current events, and a rugby player from New Zealand (wearing shorts in winter) was an unlikely pop culture and reality TV fan. Bess worked her way around the team (ten in all, counting him). Will couldn't remember all the names.

'We also have a token Pom', Bess explained, introducing him to a shy girl at the end of the table. 'She stops us from getting blindsided by questions on British politics and Kings and Queens of England'.

'Well, for tonight you've got two', said Will heartily. An awkward silence fell over the table. Bess' teammates were shooting sideways looks her way, trying to understand why they had a film star filling in on their student table. 'Can I get anyone a drink?' he asked, standing up.

Her team looked even more shocked by his reasonable question. 'Thanks', Bess interjected, 'but we have a roster, and we never let guests buy drinks. Maxim's on the first round tonight, and I'm on the second.'

'You have a roster for drinks?' he asked incredulously.

Bess flushed. 'We're all students here, and this way everyone pays their fair share'. Her team nodded in agreement.

This was going from bad to worse. He needed to regroup and give her friends a few minutes to ask all the questions they were bursting with.

'I'll just step outside to make a call, then', he told Bess.

She frowned. 'Okay, but make sure you're back by quarter past. That's when we lock our phones into the box'. She pointed to a small wooden chest it the middle of the table.

'You lock your phones in a box?'

'Yeah, it's part of the rules', the Kiwi dude explained. Will looked around and saw that every table had a similar box. 'Any team that touches their phones before ten thirty is disqualified'.

'I'll be quick', he told Bess.

As he walked away, he heard the Malaysian girl burst out with 'You're friends with _Will Darcy_?'.

He paused, anxious to hear Bess' reply.

'Not really', she answered. 'He's friends with my boss. I don't really know him'.

Will's shoulders slumped. He pushed through the doors and stood outside in the cold to make his imaginary phone call.

* * *

Fortunately for his state of mind, the evening improved from there. The team loosened up a bit after Maxim bought the first round of beers, and Will appreciated their efforts to treat him as just another team member. He relaxed another notch when all the phones were locked up. Knowing that no-one could take photos of him to sell to the tabloids was a rare luxury.

The quiz started. Bess was in her element, encouraging, directing, shushing any team member who forgot themselves so far as to call out an answer instead of writing it down. She pulled the pen out of her hair, chewed the end, then twisted her ponytail back into a bun and pushed the pen through it again. She was adorable. He was pathetic.

Sport, music, art, history. The rounds rolled on, and the team had an answer for most questions. The table round, on Harry Potter, was entirely filled out by a Sri Lankan girl who told him she had read the books fifty-six times.

With one round to go, the chalkboard showed Bess' team tied for second, only two points behind the leaders, who had the improbable team name of _Queen and Country_. 'They're our nemesis', Bess whispered, nervously twisting the pen in her hair. 'They hate us because we're young, smart and foreign. We've never beaten them yet, what with all the questions about things that happened before we were born, but we're going to beat them before the end of the season'. Her breath tickled his ear, and her leg touched his as she leaned towards him. Will found it very hard to concentrate on her words.

The topic for the final round was announced. _Performing Arts_. The team turned expectant faces towards him. Bess patted his arm. 'You can do it, Will. You've got this'.

Ten minutes later, he leaned back in his chair, wiping his face with a shaking hand. Bess ran their answer sheet up to the judges' table. He had no idea what film had won the 1932 Oscar for best picture, but he hoped not many other teams would either. Other than that, he thought they'd gone pretty well. He knew quite a few of the celebs in the questions personally, and the Shakespeare was easy for him. He blessed his years of RADA training.

Bess gripped his arm tensely while they waited for the final scores to be chalked up. When their score was written up, showing them one point ahead of _Queen and Country_ , the table exploded. The girls were screaming and hugging, the guys high fiving, while the Malaysian girl jumped on a chair, waving her arms in the air. Will turned to Bess, but Angus the Kiwi had picked her up and was spinning her around in circles. Will saw her exultant expression change to a wince of pain.

'You're hurting her', he said sharply.

'Sorry Bess', said Angus, almost dropping her in his haste to put her down. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine' she said, smiling at him. 'It's an old injury. Don't worry about it'.

She frowned at Will for half a second, but then her joyous smile broke through again and she pulled him into a hug.

'We did it, Will. We beat them!' she said breathlessly. 'We couldn't have done it without you'.

The rest of the team were crowding around them now, but he barely noticed. Bess was in his arms. He'd imagined this moment so many times, in many different ways, but the reality was even better. She fit perfectly, her softness pressing against his hard chest, her head tucked under his chin. He had to fight the urge to squeeze her too tightly. After a few seconds, she started to wriggle, and he reluctantly opened his arms.

Their prizes included three more jugs of beer, and some of the girls were quite tipsy by the time they were ready to leave. Bess saw everyone off at the door and made sure no-one was travelling home alone. 'If we leave now, we can just get the last tube back to the residence' she told the few remaining students.

'I can drive you', Will volunteered.

'Are you sure?' she asked. 'There's four of us'.

'I brought the Aston Martin' he said. 'You'll all fit. Wait inside in the warm and I'll pull up at the door'.

'Thanks, Mr Darcy', giggled the Malaysian girl, Lily, making him feel ancient.

'Please, call me Will'.

'Uh, thanks Will' they all chorused as he nodded and walked away. Driving drunk overseas students home wasn't high on his to-do-list, he reflected, but they seemed a nice bunch of kids. Oh well, if it bought him twenty more minutes with Bess, it was worth it.

* * *

Will brought the car to a smooth stop in front of the old red brick building. Bess' friends piled out onto the footpath.

'Night, Will'. 'Thanks for the ride, Will'. 'Great car, Will'.

Bess, sitting in the front passenger seat, quirked a smile. 'Don't mind them. They're so excited to be on first name terms with a real celebrity, they can't help it'.

Will shrugged. 'I don't mind. I'm just relieved no-one threw up on the leather upholstery'.

Bess laughed. 'They're not _that_ drunk'.

'Are you coming, Bess?' called Angus, hesitating by her door.

'You go in. I'm just saying goodnight'.

 _Oh no, did that sound too presumptuous? As though she had a right to a special, private goodbye?_ She'd been so stunned to see Will at the quiz night that her initial welcome had been a little frosty, and now she was veering too far in the other direction.

Will was sitting forward, one hand on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windscreen. The shadows falling on his face made it hard to read his expression, but his posture was tense.

'How have you been?' she ventured.

'Fine, thanks' he said, without turning his head.

'Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look paler than usual, and thinner in the face'.

He snorted. 'My current schedule doesn't leave a lot of time for sunlight. But you needn't worry. The play's backers have a doctor and a nutritionist keeping an eye on me. Got to protect their investment, after all', he said bitterly.

'You're not an investment, you're a person', Bess replied indignantly. 'It's inhuman, expecting you to give a performance like that eight times a week'.

He did turn to look at her then. 'You get used to it.' He shrugged. 'It's every actor's dream, to have a run this successful'.

'How much longer will it go?'

'We've got another three months here. After that, they can exercise the option for a Broadway run, which they probably will'.

Bess stared at him, horrified. 'You're going to do this for a whole year?'.

'It looks that way'. His eyes were so sad, she wanted to hug him, to give him some comfort, but she held back. He probably wouldn't welcome that anyway, not from her. Not after all the harsh words they'd said to each other. She'd already hugged him once tonight, in the momentary elation of winning. He was so big and strong, she'd barely been able to reach her arms around him. So much carefully restrained masculine power. It both attracted and scared her.

His soulful eyes started a her for a few uncomfortable seconds, before his habitual reserve dropped back into place. 'Enough about me, how have you been?' he asked casually.

'I'm fine', she said, striving to match his lighter tone. 'The course is more intense than I'd bargained for, but it is the LSE after all. At least I have plenty of time to study. The residence has a dining hall, so I don't have to cook. And did you know, if you pay a little extra at the laundromat, they'll even wash and fold your clothes for you?' Realising she was babbling, she stopped suddenly. 'Sorry, you don't need to know about that. You probably have your own housekeeper'.

'Not a housekeeper, but I do have someone who comes in a couple of days a week to take care of things for me'.

She had a sudden picture of him, working 'til all hours at the theatre, coming home to a clean, dark and empty house. It sounded so lonely.

'Bess, I was wondering …' Will said hesitantly, leaning towards her.

'Yes?'

 _Buzz. Buzz._ His phone rang loudly in the quiet of the car.

'Damn'. He sat back and reached for the phone on the dashboard. 'I'll just silence this'.

'No, you take it', said Bess, suddenly shy. 'I should go in now, anyway'. She jumped out of the car and turned as she closed the door. 'Thanks for coming tonight Will. You were great'.

She ran for the front door without looking back.

* * *

 _How mean am I? I am so mean. I promise I won't make Will wait too much longer for Bess ;-)_


	16. Chapter 16

_I was going to leave Will and Bess hanging while he's in the US, but many reviewers suggested that would just be too mean. So I relented, and at least they're in touch now. This is kind of an epistolary chapter – emails and phone calls only. Normal service will resume in the next chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Dear Bess,_

 _Emma gave me your email address. I hope you don't mind._

 _How are you? I trust you're well, and not studying too hard. Are you still swimming? Still smashing Queen and Country at trivia nights?_

 _I'm enjoying New York. Have you ever been here? I'd visited before, but never lived here._

 _They've put me up in an apartment on Central Park West. It's a few blocks north of the theatre, but I don't mind the walk, or the cab ride if it's raining. On fine days, I have breakfast on my balcony and watch the people in the park, scurrying like ants in their green oasis, surrounded by concrete towers._

 _The play is going well. The hype seems to have preceded us across the channel. We're sold out every night, and the scalpers are making a killing. When we last met, you were kind enough to express some concern for my health, but I'm well. I've never been in a play that ran this long before, but Richard Copeland, who plays Polonius, once did the same show for two years. He's been instructing me in the fine art of giving a performance with artistic integrity, without half killing myself every night._

 _I like New Yorkers. Like Londoners, they tend to mind their own business, but unlike Londoners, they're not afraid to tell you when they're not happy. I've got used to being yelled at by MTA workers when I stand on the wrong side of the escalator, or go through the wrong ticket gate, but there's no malice in it. If you don't yell in New York, no one hears you._

 _The tourists are another matter, so I try to avoid hot spots like Times Square or the Empire State building. I have very little time for sightseeing, anyway, although I do run around the park on my free mornings. I wear a legionnaires cap - you know the one with the big flap of material at the back - and reflective sports sunglasses. It looks even worse than what Emma calls my 'American tourist' look, but no one recognises me._

 _So that's my news. Drop me a line some time, if you get a chance._

 _All the best_

 _Will_

* * *

 _Hi Will_

 _Thanks for your email. It was a nice surprise to hear from you. I'd been wondering how you were going on Broadway. I saw one of your late-night TV interviews, and you did look a bit tired (no offence), but also okay. I'm glad you're looking after yourself._

 _I've never been to New York, but I'd love to see it one day. Central Park sounds amazing._

 _It's crunch time at uni. We've finished most of the coursework, and I'm almost done with my field placement. I was lucky enough to get a spot at Gardiner Inc. They've been very generous in letting me interview their staff (everyone from the mail guy up to the CEO) about their motivations and what they want to get out of their work life. But now I have three exams and a thesis to write, and it all has to be done before graduation in June!_

 _I am still swimming (it's great stress relief), and we are still doing trivia on Monday nights. Sadly, we haven't beaten Queen and Country again – our regular entertainment buff isn't as knowledgeable as you ;-)_

 _I babysat Freya the other night. Once she'd enacted her little drama about how everyone has abandoned her, she settled down and we had a good time baking. She wanted to know why we bake cakes, when the cake mix tastes so much better raw! She has a point. She sends her love and wants to know when you're coming back to England._

 _Sorry this email is short. I would write more, if I didn't have a 20,000 word thesis to knock out._

 _Cheers_

 _Bess_

 _PS. Did you like how I signed off with Cheers? Maybe I'm becoming a real Londoner._

* * *

'Hi, Harriet'.

'Hi Will. Long time no talk. Still killing it over there on Broadway?'

'People seem happy enough with the performance'.

Harriet snorted. 'Will, that's an understatement. You're on fire. You've never been so hot. The scripts are pouring in. Any role you want, I can probably get it for you'.

'Thanks Harriet, I appreciate that. Listen, I had a bit of a skirmish with the director last night, and I thought I'd better give you a heads up.

'Define skirmish'.

Will sighed. 'Look, to be honest, this new guy they brought in for the Broadway run? He's a wanker'.

'Yeah, I'd heard that about him'.

'So we've mostly been tolerating him until now, though he is pretty vile, especially to the women. But last night, I snapped'.

'Will, what did you do?'

'You know Kate Cornish, who plays Ophelia?'

'Sure, she's an up and comer. I'd love to represent her'.

'Yeah, well, we were having an early dinner backstage, all of us, when he took Kate's plate away from her. He said Ophelia was supposed to be pining away for Hamlet, not stuffing her face like a fat cow'.

'Wow, what a prick'.

'Exactly. So I took the plate from him, gave it back to Kate, and told him that whatever they might do in Hollywood, in England we hire actors for their talent, not for their ability to starve themselves'.

'I only wish that were true'.

'So do I. Anyway, he muttered some bullshit non-apology, and slunk off'.

'What did Kate say?'

'I was worried I might have made the situation worse by calling attention to it, but she said he could go fuck himself five ways to Tuesday, and she appreciated the support'.

'Will you still be able to work with him?'

'I think so. We've done the play so many times at this point, it's not as though he's doing much directing anyway'.

'Thanks for the heads up, Will, but I'm not too worried. The way things are, if it came down to a choice between him and you, they'd pick you'.

'I'm not sure my career would stand another stunt like that. Best to save it for the Wickhams of the world'.

'Of whom, unfortunately, there are way too many'.

'I know. Damn, I wish I didn't have to work with so many arseholes'.

Harriet laughed. 'Will, I don't think we can put a no-arseholes clause in your contract'.

There was a pause. 'You know, Harriet, that's not such a bad idea'.

'Will, I was joking. You'd never work again'.

'No listen, I'm serious. Not about the arseholes, but about the predators. Surely I could write that in to my standard contract. Something like _I will not work with any person who has had substantiated allegations of sexual harassment made against them_ '.

Harriet sucked in a breath. 'I don't know, Will, that's awfully broad. You'd take a hit for it'.

'How much?'

'You might lose a quarter of your roles'.

'I could afford that, right?'

'It might be more'.

'Listen, why don't you get an industry lawyer to draft some clauses for me? A female lawyer, if you can. She'll have a better idea of what conduct to include'.

'You're really serious about this?'

'I really am. You said it yourself, I've never been so hot. Let's take it out for a spin and see what it can do'.

'Okay, I'll get some clauses drafted, but we'll have to discuss this further'.

'Sure, Harriet, whatever you like'.

'Whatever _you_ like. And Will?'

'Yes, Harriet?'

'Thank you'.

* * *

 _Dear Bess_

 _Thanks for the email. It was great to hear from you. I hope the thesis is coming along, and you're looking after yourself. Congratulations on getting a placement at Gardiner Inc. You should be proud of yourself._

 _Please give my love to Freya, tell her I said she's an impertinent baggage and I'll be home in June._

 _We continue to plod along here. Everyone's running on adrenaline and coffee at this point, and it's not even good coffee. The director is a right bastard, but we mostly ignore each other. If I have to speak with him, I say as little as possible._

 _I wish you hadn't seen the talk show appearance. I_ hate _doing those things. I don't think the British sense of humour translates well over here. Or at least not my sense of humour. They expect me to be witty and charming, and instead I'm tongue tied. The more they fawn, the more uncomfortable I get. No wonder people think I'm haughty._

 _The weather's starting to warm up here, and it feels as though the end is in sight. I hear it gets muggy and unpleasant in summer, but I'll be gone by then. Back to London, where I may not get a summer at all._

 _I hope we can catch up for a proper coffee when I get back._

 _Cheers from a real Londoner_

 _Will_

* * *

 _Hey Will_

 _This will be another short email, as I still have 10,000 words to go on my thesis. I'm in danger of turning into a hermit at this point, but at least it will all be over in two months (like your play). Some days I wish I could just wake up and it was June already, but sadly it doesn't work like that._

 _I'm sorry your director is a bastard and you have to go on TV shows. It's funny, I would have assumed that actors loved that kind of attention, but I can see now why you don't. It's different, isn't it, when it's you instead of your character?_

 _The weather is completely shite here, grey and rainy. Oh well, at least there's no sunshine to tempt me outside when I should be writing. And when I venture out of my room for a meal or a break, there's plenty of students around to commiserate with on the workload._

 _Sure, I'd like to go out for a coffee some time. Of course, the best coffee in the world is in Melbourne, but we can make do with something a bit closer to home ;-)_

 _It's been nice writing to you, but I have to get back to my thesis now. I'm not even joking, but it's proper hard work, innit? (can you tell I'm working on my Essex slang?)_

 _Bess_

* * *

'Will?'

'Harriet? What time is it?'

'It's half three over here. What time is it there? Did I wake you?'

'Don't worry about it', he muttered grumpily. 'What's up?'.

'They've come back with a new offer to extend the run. One hundred thousand US a _week_ , plus five per cent of the gross'.

'Sorry Harriet, no can do'.

'Are you mad? That must be a record for a Broadway pay check'.

'It's not about the money. I'm tired. We're all tired. We just want to come home. Besides, you know I need to be back in June'.

'Even though you won't tell me why'.

'We start filming Pimpernel in July, and I need a break before that'.

'I could get them to push back the start of the shoot. They'd do it, for you'.

'No, I don't want to put them out'.

'Okay, I didn't really think you'd go for it, but I promised to give it one last shot'.

'And now you have. By the way, the new contract clauses look good'.

'And the Pimpernel execs signed it, although their in-house lawyers advised them not to. So maybe we will get away with it'.

'Looks like it'.

'Damn, you just love to be right, don't you Will?'

'Someone has to be'.

'Don't let your head get too big, or it won't fit on the plane on the way back'.

'Thanks for the advice'.

'All part of the service'.

Will snorted. 'See you in June'.


	17. Chapter 17

_As always, your reviews were both hilarious and awesome. You made it clear that Bess and Will needed to be (at least) in the same room in the next chapter, so I hope this meets your requirements :-)_

* * *

Will and Emma were among the last to guests to enter. There were a few whispers as the usher showed them to their seats near the front of the auditorium. The number of cameras in the room made Will uncomfortable. Fortunately, once they were seated, the audience settled down. They were there to see their loved ones, after all, not a couple of actors.

Will scanned the rows of students on the stage, searching for Bess. Emma nudged him and pointed to the front row. _There she was!_ The pleasure of seeing her again, after six months apart, washed over him. She looked good. Really good. The black gown with purple trim suited her, and even her mortarboard cap didn't look silly. Her hair was drawn back in a loose bun, and she was chatting excitedly to the student next to her. She hadn't seen him or Emma yet.

Will's attention drifted as the speeches started. They were mercifully short. The Dean started calling out names. Will sat up straight. Bess was a B for Bennett, so she should be near the beginning.

When she walked across the stage to receive her degree, he clapped as long and loud as he dared. Emma, next to him, snapped a stream of photos with her camera.

Will lost interest again as the names rolled on, although he did recognise a few students from Bess' trivia team.

At last, they came to the prizes. The Dean approached the microphone. 'The prize for most outstanding student in the Masters of Organisational and Social Psychology programme goes to … Lily Zheng'.

Will recognised the petite girl who stood up and crossed the stage to shake hands with the Dean. It was Bess' Malaysian friend, the one who'd had too much beer at the quiz night and giggled the whole way home in his car.

He swallowed his disappointment that it wasn't Bess and clapped.

'The award for best dissertation goes to … Bess Bennet'.

'What?' shrieked Emma, clutching his arm and almost dropping her camera.

Bess looked shocked. Her friends pushed her up from her seat, and she gave a wry smile, blushing as she crossed the stage. Will clapped so hard his hands hurt.

* * *

Emma and Will tried to get to Bess after the ceremony, but she was surrounded by a group of students congratulating her.

Will saw Lily standing off to one side with an older couple, and excused himself to Emma.

'Hi, Lily?'

'Oh my goodness, Mr Darcy … I mean Will. What are you doing here?'

'I came along with Emma Bingley'. Will waved vaguely in her direction. 'She's Bess' old boss'.

'Of course, you're here for Bess'.

Will quickly changed the subject. 'Hey, congratulations on topping the year. What an achievement'.

'Thanks, Will'. Lily leaned in closer. 'My mum is your biggest fan', she whispered. 'Any chance I could introduce you?'

'Of course', said Will graciously.

'Mum, Dad, this is Will Darcy. Will, these are my parents, Denise and CJ Zheng'.

'Mr and Mrs Zheng, it's a pleasure to meet you', he said formally. 'You must be very proud of your daughter'.

Mr Zheng shook Darcy's hand, but Mrs Zheng only stared at him in shock.

'Would you like a photo?' asked Will to break the awkward silence.

'With you?' said Lily.

'Only if you want to', said Will, wondering if he'd overstepped.

'Of course, we'd love to', said Lily. 'It would be my mum's dream come true, but Bess said no photos'.

'What, she knew I was coming?', asked Darcy, confused.

'No, I mean at the trivia night, when you went outside to make a call. She said no photos, no social media mentions, nothing. She said you were doing us a big favour by filling in and we should respect that'.

'Oh, I get it', said Will. _Was that why Bess had said she wasn't his friend? To ensure his privacy?_

'Anyway, this is a public occasion', he continued. 'Let's grab someone to take a photo'.

Lily pulled a fellow student over, and Will posed in between Lily and her parents. He was about two heads taller than all of them. Lily's mum was still silent. He rested one arm along her shoulders. The poor woman was shaking like a leaf.

'I must go and talk to Bess', he excused himself once the photos were done. As he turned to go, Lily's mum suddenly pulled him into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. He looked over her shoulder at Lily, who was mortified. 'Mum, that's enough', she said, hauling her off. 'Don't maul the poor man'.

'It was a pleasure to meet you', he told her mum, extricating himself as gracefully as he could. 'Are you celebrating tonight?'

'We're not sure, we only landed from KL this morning', she said, finally finding her voice. 'We haven't had time to make any arrangements.

He pulled out a card and scrawled his name on the back, before handing it to her. 'If you'd like to celebrate at a real English club, give them this card and they'll look after you'.

She looked down at the card as though he had handed her a golden ticket. 'Thank you, Mr Darcy,'she breathed.

Minutes later, he finally made it through the crush of people to Bess. Could he get away with a hug? He thought the occasion warranted it.

'Well done, Bess', he said, pulling her into his arms. 'I'm so proud of you. Best dissertation – that's amazing'.

'Will – I didn't even know you were back', she said into the front of his shirt.

Reluctantly, he released her so that he could see her face. She looked surprised, but not displeased. _He hoped._

'I only flew in yesterday', he explained. He glanced pointedly at the other students surrounding them, who promptly withdrew, allowing them to continue their conversation in private.

'And you came to my graduation?' she asked, bewildered.

'As you see' he said, spreading his arms wide. _Oh shit, was he being too obvious?_

'Gordon couldn't make it, and Emma asked me to come instead', he explained. _Well, that was half true._ Gordon probably could have taken the day off work, but he'd begged Emma to take him instead.

'I see'. Bess' expression cleared, and she smiled. 'Thanks for coming'.

'Your sister couldn't make it?'

'It's a long way to fly with little kids', she explained, 'but you and Emma made it. It's lovely to have a couple of people here for me'. He followed her gaze as she looked around at the other students, surrounded by their families.

'Your mum and dad would have been very proud of you' he said softly. _What a stupid thing to say. You didn't even know them, Will_.

Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them away and mustered a smile. 'Thanks Will. Now, take me to Emma'.

'Just a minute, Bess'. He took a deep breath. 'Are you doing anything tonight?'

She nodded. 'A few of us without families are going out for dinner'.

He tried again. 'How about tomorrow night? Or are you booked up in perpetuity?' he joked.

Her face fell. 'Oh Will, I'm sorry. I'm going backpacking with friends for a month. We leave in the morning. We were only waiting around for graduation'.

His face must have fallen, because Bess rushed into further speech. 'Maybe we could catch up when I get back?'

'I'll be filming in France by then', he said curtly, afraid his voice would betray his feelings.

'Oh, okay, never mind…' Bess started, when she was cut off by a jovial man slapping her on the back.

'Ms Bennett, already mixing it with the rich and famous, I see'.

Will frowned as Bess blushed.

'Well, aren't you going to introduce me?' the man continued.

'Yes, of course. Will Darcy, may I present Edward Gardiner, founder of Gardiner Inc and my new employer? Mr Gardiner, this is Will Darcy, celebrated actor and, er…'

Will waited for Bess to characterise their relationship. Would she deny it again?

… family friend', she concluded.

Gardiner seized Will's hand and shook it vigorously.

'Delighted to meet you. I was fortunate enough to see your Hamlet at the Old Vic. Magnificent, simply magnificent'.

'Thank you', said Will shortly. He'd never mastered the art of accepting praise from strangers. He turned to Bess. 'You're going to work for Gardiner Inc?'

'Yes, they've offered me a graduate position. I start in a month'.

'And we were lucky to get her', Mr Gardiner interrupted. 'Best student we've ever had on placement. Did you know', he continued to Will, leaning in confidentially, 'that according to Bess, our mail room man has the most, uh, what was that word again, Bess?'

'It wasn't the one to do with the pond, was it?' asked Will teasingly.

Bess stuck out her tongue at Will. 'No, it was not stagnation'. She turned back to Gardiner. 'The most generativity'.

'That's it!' cried Gardiner. 'I was about to let the man go. Not much call for physical mail, these days. But according to Bess, he looks after all the new hires, settles them in, checks up on anyone who's having a hard time, fixes problems and boosts morale. So I asked her if I should make that part of his duties, but she said no, he wouldn't get so much satisfaction out of the work if he was required to do it. So then I suggested a bonus, but Bess here said if I gave him a pay rise instead, he'd be able to pay for his granddaughter's piano lessons'. Gardiner shook his head. 'Never seen a man so happy to get a raise'.

Will opened his mouth, searching for a comment that would agree with Gardiner without sounding patronising to Bess. He was saved by Gardiner himself, who didn't seem to require much of a response from his audience.

'Excuse me, I must dash. Having lunch with the Chancellor, dontcha know'.

'It was a pleasure to meet you', said Will politely.

'We'll see you in a month, Miss Bennet', Gardiner called over his shoulder as he pushed through the crowd.

'Your project certainly made a big impression on him', Will told Bess. 'I'd say your career is off to a great start'.

Bess shrugged off the praise. 'He's a CEO. Right now, my project is his shiny new toy, but next week, it'll be something else'.

'Still, you've got a graduate position with the company. They're hard to come by'.

'I know', said Bess, eyes glowing. 'I'll be able to support myself now'.

'That's great', said Will, wishing she didn't have to worry so much about money. He had more than anyone needed, but no way of sharing it with her. Not yet. Which reminded him that he had snapped at her earlier. He needed to do better.

'About that coffee, Bess. It might not be for a while, but I'd still love to have one with you'.

'I'd like that too, Will'.


	18. Chapter 18

_Happy 2020 everyone! Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing. Some reviewers were clearly annoyed by the last chapter. It was not my intention to drag things out needlessly, but looking back, I can see that it may have come across that way. Actually, I was just trying to write a quick bridging chapter to get us to the 'Pemberley' section of the story (some of which I had already written). So, as a token of good faith, I hope you will enjoy this chapter in which things happen and progress is made._

* * *

'Wake up, Bess'. A hand shook her shoulder.

'Huh, what is it?' She rubbed her eyes and peered out the bus window, confused by the sight of sand dunes. 'We're not back in Rennes?'

'No, they've added a bonus stop to the tour', Angus explained. 'There's a film shooting on the coast today, so they pulled over to give us a quick look. We've got twenty minutes.'

'A film?', asked Bess, coming fully awake. 'Did they say what it was about?'

'Some traditional French tale. The name didn't mean anything to me'.

Bess relaxed back into her seat. A French film. So, surely not the one that Darcy was working on, then.

'Are you coming?', asked Angus, standing up in the aisle of the coach.

'Sure, just let me grab my jacket and I'll be right out', she replied. The day had still been fine when they left Mont Saint Michel, but it had clouded over while she slept, and the grass on the sand dunes was dancing in the wind.

She joined Chris on top of a dune and surveyed the scene below. She'd never seen a film set before and was surprised by the number of people on the beach. She could make out three different cameras, each manned by two crew, while others held what she thought were microphones on large poles. Still others held up large shades, or milled around, their purpose unclear to Bess.

It looked to be a period piece, as there were several actors dressed in pantaloons, cravats and tightly fitted jackets with tails. They stood around a man in a director's chair, who was gesturing with his hands.

One actor in particular was tall, with broad shoulders and legs that showed to advantage in the tight pants. Oh no, surely it wasn't…

'Will! Bess, look, that's Will down there. What a coincidence.' Angus grabbed her shoulder and pointed with his other hand. 'Hi Will! It's us! Angus and Bess!' he yelled. He waved his arm over his head.

'Shut up!' she hissed, elbowing him in the side. 'Are you mad? If it is Will, he's at work. You can't yell at him like that'.

The man-who-might-be-Will looked up at them, shading his eyes and squinting. The director also turned in his chair, seeking the source of the commotion.

'I think it is him', said Angus, undeterred. 'Look, he's coming our way'.

'Oh no', moaned Bess. 'This is so embarrassing'. She turned and ran for the bus.

'Stop, wait, where are you going?' Chris called after her. She ignored him.

* * *

Bess had the bus to herself. All the other tourists were still gawking at the film crew. She shrank down in her seat, hiding behind her paperback book. Hanging around the stage door had been bad, but this was a thousand times worse. What would he think of her, turning up unannounced like this? She prayed it wasn't Will, or that if it was Will he hadn't recognised her, or that if he had recognised her then Angus would explain this stop wasn't part of the scheduled tour.

'Bess?'

The deep voice made her jump, and she lowered her book. It _was_ Will, walking up the aisle of the bus. He was dressed in full period costume, but somehow managing not to look out of place.

'Oh Will, hi. I had no idea you'd be here, this wasn't even a planned stop, we were heading home, I was asleep…'

'Bess, it's okay, Angus explained'. Will frowned. 'Are you two travelling together?'

'No, I mean yes, there's a whole bunch of us travelling together. But Angus and I were the only ones who wanted to see Saint Malo and the Mont Saint Michel, so we took this day tour and the others stayed behind in Rennes for some last-minute shopping. We head back to London in the morning…'

She trailed off, realising she was babbling.

'Why did you run away?'

'You're working, and I didn't want to intrude. Angus was a dickhead to shout out to you like that, I'm sorry'.

He laid a warm hand over hers. 'You're not intruding. Would you like to come and see the film set?'

'Oh no, I couldn't possibly, what would people think?'

He squeezed her hand gently. 'Bess, actors have visitors on set all the time. No one will think anything of it'. He gestured out the window at the ocean. 'We have an hour, at most, before that storm rolls in. Then we'll wrap for the day and I can drive you back to Rennes myself. We might even get that coffee'. He smiled.

Still, she hesitated, unable to shake her mortification.

'Please?' he said simply.

'Okay, I'll stay'.

* * *

The crew conferred anxiously, looking at the radar images on their phones and then back up at the darkening sky. The storm was closing in, the wind picking up. They were racing to get the last scene in the can before the light faded too much.

Normally, Will would be frustrated by the thought of having to resume on another day, but now he welcomed the bad weather. He looked over at Bess, who was standing behind the director, wrapped in her jacket, hair whipping about her face. The tour bus had departed, taking Angus the Kiwi with it. Now, if they could just pull off this one last scene, he could drive off with Bess.

'And, action…' the director called.

Will focused, reaching for his character. _The French were hot on their trail. If they were caught, it would mean the guillotine_. He squared his shoulders and walked down the beach, followed by the steady cam operator. The actor playing Armand turned to greet him.

'Percy, mon vieux, I had not expected to see you here'. They embraced briefly.

'We must leave tonight', said Will, turning slightly so the camera could capture his intent expression.

A scream cut across Armand's reply.

'Cut, cut' yelled the director. 'I thought those people understood they could only stay if they were quiet'.

They turned to look back down the beach to where a family party had been picnicking. The woman pointed to the ocean, and screamed again.

He followed the direction of her finger and could just make out a child on a blow-up mattress, being pulled rapidly out to sea by the current. A man was waist-deep in the water, but seemed unable to get out through the breakers. 'It's a kid' he said, stunned. 'And the mattress is sinking'. Water was washing over the sides, the child clinging on desperately.

Others from the film set had also seen. Some ran towards the mother, others pulled out mobile phones to call for help.

Bess appeared at his side. 'Is there a boat?' she asked briefly.

'I don't think so', he said. 'It's not a patrolled beach'.

Bess shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it on the sand. She started to undo the buttons of her shirt.

'What are you doing?' he asked, alarmed.

'Going in' she said. 'What do you think I'm doing?'

'But those waves are really picking up'.

'And how long do you think the kid will last out there?' she shot back.

She dropped her shirt beside the jacket and turned in her bra to face the film crew. The scars on her back were white now, not the angry red he remembered.

'Are any of you strong swimmers?' she yelled above the noise of the wind. A few shook their heads, others just stared at her. 'For fucks' sake, you live on an island and none of you know how to swim', she muttered under her breath.

She turned back to Will. 'Can you bring me the life ring that's up there? I need the rope that goes with it, too'. She pointed to the orange and white ring hanging from a hook by the path leading off the beach.

Will ran to get it, his mind racing. He didn't want her to do this, but if he stopped her, the kid might drown. He snatched the ring off the hook and looped the attached rope over his shoulder. By the time he got back to Bess she had shed her jeans, revealing matching black briefs. Her legs were toned and tan. He tried not to stare.

'Thanks', she said, lifting the coiled rope from his shoulder. She passed one end around her waist and tried to tie it. Her hands were shaking. 'Damn', she swore. 'Can you do it for me?'

He nodded, reaching for the rope. Her stomach was firm and cool under his fingers. She was breathing fast.

'Tie it tight, I can't afford to lose it', she instructed.

'You don't need it to swim, do you?'

'Of course not, I'll pull it behind me. I'll need it when I get to the kid. Drowning people often panic and drown their rescuers as well. If I give him the ring he won't latch on to me'.

Oh God, this was too risky. He tied an extra knot, then tugged on the rope to check it. The knot held, pulling Bess towards him. 'Are you sure about this?'

She looked up into his face, and he saw the fear in her eyes. 'No, I'm not, but there's no-one else. I was a nipper as a kid. It looks like a rip that's towing him out, see where the waves aren't as high?'

He followed her pointing finger and thought he could discern a break in the pounding surf.

'If I swim out in the same rip, I'll catch him pretty quickly. I don't think I can get him back in, though. I'd have to swim him parallel to the beach for a while, then back in through the breakers. He might not make it'.

'What will you do?' he asked.

'I'll wait for you. Can you find me a boat?'

Numbly, he nodded.

She grabbed the ring from his arm and hooked it over her shoulder. He kissed her quickly on the cheek, for luck, and then she was gone. He bit his tongue to stop himself calling her back.

She ran down the beach until she drew level with the screaming woman, then turned into the ocean. She ran through the shallows, straight past the man, lifting her legs out to the side with each stride, then dropped the ring behind her and dove under the first wave. He held his breath until he saw her pop up on the other side, the ring trailing behind, still attached by the rope to her waist. She set out in a fast freestyle towards the next set of waves.

He turned back to the shocked crew. 'A boat, we need a boat', he yelled. 'Some of you follow me, the rest use your phones. A thousand pounds to the first person who gets a boat here'.

His feet sank in the soft sand as he ran along the path through the dunes. He knocked off the ridiculous wig he was obliged to wear as Sir Percy Blakeney.

A few old stone houses lined the road that ran parallel to the beach. 'Split up' he called to the crew who'd followed him. 'Knock on every door, ask everyone, if you see a boat just take it'.

Left or right? He didn't know. What if he guessed wrong? He thought there were slightly more houses to the right, so he turned that way. The others were already knocking on doors, so he kept running, scanning each driveway and courtyard, peering into garages where he could. He soon left the others behind him, but still he couldn't see a boat.

He was panting by the time he reached the last house. It was an old two-storey farmhouse with a freestanding garage. He peered through the gap in the wooden doors and could just make out a car, with a small boat on a trailer next to it. _Thank God!_

He pounded on the front door. 'Help, please help, it's an emergency!' No one came, so he banged harder. 'Help me, please!'

'Allez-vous en, Anglais!', came a shout from inside.

Damn, they didn't understand. What the hell was the French for emergency? Urgence? 'C'est une urgence' he yelled, still pounding. 'S'il vous plait, monsieur, aidez-moi!'

Still no one came. 'Ma copine' – was that girlfriend or female friend? He couldn't remember, and what a stupid time to be worrying about it, 'elle va noyer', wait, was the verb 'to drown' reflexive? Why hadn't he paid more attention in French lessons? 'Elle va se noyer, et l'enfant aussi', he hollered.

Finally, the door opened. A grizzled man in a blue cap peered at his suspiciously, then let loose a flood of French. Will couldn't understand half of it.

'Il y a un enfant, la-bas, dans la mer', Will tried desperately, pointing towards the beach. 'Il va se noyer. Ma copine essaie de le sauver. On a besoin de votre bateau'.

He pointed to the garage as he said 'bateau'. The man nodded once, grabbed his keys from a hook by the door, and indicated that Will should follow him. 'Merci, monsieur', said Will, expelling his breath. 'Merci beaucoup'.

It took agonising minutes to hook the boat trailer up to the jeep, and when they were finally underway, the man turned the car in the opposite direction from the beach.

'Non, monsieur, la-bas', said Will, grabbing his shoulder and pointing back the way he'd come.

The old man shook his head and let forth another flood of French, accompanied with hand gestures. Will wasn't sure, but he got the impression they couldn't launch the boat on the beach. They had to go round the point to the next beach, where there was a boat ramp.

 _Hang on Bess_ , he thought in his head. _We're coming_.

* * *

The first shock of the cold sea water seized her ribs and drove all the breath from her body, but once she was up and stroking it wasn't so bad. She had to dive under four or five sets of waves to get out the back, the rope from the life ring dragging her back each time. She finally made it under the last wave and into clearer water. It was still choppy, but the waves weren't breaking this far out. She could see the kid about one hundred metres ahead of her. He was mostly submerged, clinging to the last bit of mattress that still had air in it, too tired to cry out. He hadn't gone under, yet.

She put her head down and swam as fast as she could. She lifted her head occasionally to check her course, the salt spray stinging her eyes. The last bit of current from the rip pulled her along, and she flew through the grey water. As she neared the boy, she dragged on the rope around her waist, bringing the ring closer. When he tried to transfer his grip from the mattress to her neck, she quickly thrust the ring at him. 'Hold that', she said firmly.

She spoke in English, but the commanding tone seemed to penetrate. He clutched at the ring, whimpering, and she trod water while she flipped it over his head and helped him to pull his arms through the hole. 'That's it', she told him, reassuringly, holding on to the ring with one hand, fending off his attempts to grab on to her. 'We'll be fine like this. He's coming, we just have to wait'.

* * *

It seemed to take forever to back up the jeep and launch the boat. Will tried once to tell the old man to hurry, but this only elicited another tirade in French, so he bit his tongue and focused on helping. The water chilled his legs as they pushed the boat out. How long could Bess hang on in this?

At last they were underway, the old man gunning the outboard to get through the waves. Will called out directions in halting French, but the wind whipped them away, so he just pointed. The man nodded and started to turn around the point, back into the bay where they were filming.

 _Where were they?_ Will could see people gesturing from the beach, but he couldn't make out anything in the water. Then suddenly, a glimpse of orange and white.

'Over there! La-bas!' he yelled, but the old man had already seen it. The boat leapt forward, spray blasting in Will's face as he stood in the bows. He dashed the water away, straining to see. It was Bess! Bess and the boy!

The old man eased off the motor as they approached, the dingy sidling up beside the pair. Bess was white and shivering, and the boy had a blue tinge around his mouth. Will knelt down, reaching out for Bess, but she shook her head and thrust the ring at him. 'The boy. Take the boy first', she gasped.

He grabbed the child under the shoulders and hauled him into the boat. The kid clamped onto him like a limpet but he peeled him off and thrust him at the old man, who was digging a blanket out of a box.

Will knelt again. Bess had grabbed on to the side of the boat with one hand, and she gave him a weak smile as he reached for her. 'Can you help me? My arms are a bit tired'.

He wrapped his arms around her and half-pulled, half-rolled her over the side. They landed together in the bottom of the boat with her splayed across his chest. She was wringing wet, gasping and shaking, but she was alive.


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank you for your continued encouragement for this story! You are the best. It's strange to be sitting here, writing, as my country burns. We had to cancel our holiday to the coast, because it's on fire. And we can barely go outside, because the smoke is so thick that it chokes us. Still, we are more fortunate than many who have lost their homes, businesses and even their lives. We are only at the beginning of this bush fire season, and no one knows how it will end._

 _So as I said, it's a strange time to be writing escapist fiction. Yet, with all plans cancelled and unable to leave the house, I suddenly have extra time in my day to write. And Bess and Will are a welcome distraction from the 24/7 bush fire updates on the television, radio and internet. Your reviews - messages from strangers - make me smile, remind me that there are places in the world that are not on fire. I would love to visit Saint Malo and Mont Saint Michel again one day, to show them to my children. We have not cared for this earth as we should, and I fear for their present as well as their future. Please pray for us, or if you do not pray, then please think of us, and do what you can to help this small blue and green planet on which we are all fellow travellers._

* * *

As they beached the boat, eager hands reached out to help. The old man handed the boy off to his parents, who were scolding, sobbing and trying to thank the rescuers in French, all at the same time. Will ignored them.

He stepped out into the shallows and then reached back into the boat for Bess, lifting her in his arms. He'd wrapped her in his coat, but it was almost as wet as she was. Her skin was cold and clammy. As he lifted her, she turned her face into his neck. He didn't know if she was embarrassed, or just seeking his warmth.

Two ambulances had arrived at the road, and he carried Bess to the free one, accompanied by several of the crew, hovering anxiously. His legs sank even deeper into the sand now, with his extra burden. He held her close, bending over to protect her from the wind.

Mercifully, one of the paramedics, who introduced himself as Benoit, spoke English. Will sat Bess carefully on gurney in the back of the ambulance and then climbed up to sit next to her.

Her vital signs were good, Benoit explained, as he started to check her over. Her temperature was a little low, around thirty-six, but that was to be expected. He did not think there would be any lasting effects. If she would please to take off the jacket, she could have this nice dry blanket instead.

As Will helped her remove the sopping coat, he saw the blood on her thigh. 'You're injured!'.

She looked down, surprised. 'I probably scratched it on the edge of the boat'. She shrugged. 'I didn't even feel it'.

Will was horrified. He must have hurt her dragging her into the boat. 'Bess, I'm sorry…' he started.

'For pulling me out of the sea?' she said, with the hint of a smile. 'Will, it's only a scratch'.

Benoit cleaned and bandaged the cut, which wasn't as deep as Will had first feared, and suggested they head off to the hospital. Bess shrank back against Will, and he put his arm around her shoulders. 'Please, no hospital', she begged. 'Hospitals are for dying people. I'm fine. Please, Will? I just want to go back to Rennes'.

He was torn. He wanted her to get proper medical attention, but he knew now why she hated hospitals. 'It's about an hour's drive', he said slowly.

Benoit shook his head. 'Too far. She needs to get warm, quickly'.

He made a decision. 'I'll take her back to my hotel in Saint-Malo. It's only ten minutes from here. She can have a hot shower there'.

Bess sagged against him. 'Thank you' she breathed.

* * *

She was silent on the drive back to his hotel. He tried to keep an eye on her, but he really had to concentrate, driving on the right side of the road (which was the wrong side for him) with rain starting to lash the windscreen. He cranked the car heater up as far as it would go, but still she shivered.

Someone had retrieved Bess' clothes and day pack from the beach, and she'd dressed in the ambulance. He left the car with the valet and ushered Bess quickly through the hotel lobby to the lifts, hoping no one would notice them. Her ponytail was a tangled mess, and her underwear was leaving wet patches on her clothes. He was still wearing a linen shirt and pantaloons, so wet that they were plastered to his body, so they made an odd sight.

He swiped his card and ushered her into his room. She stopped in front of the bed and looked around blankly.

'The bathroom's this way', he said, steering her through to the ensuite.

He ran the shower until it was steaming hot, but still bearable. He turned back to find Bess fumbling unsuccessfully with the buttons of her shirt. He stilled her trembling hands. 'Here, let me'.

'I'm sorry to be so clumsy', she said.

'Hush, you're not clumsy, only cold'. He opened the last button and stopped, holding the edges of the shirt together. 'Can you manage from here?'

'I'll be fine. Thanks, Will'.

Reluctantly, he left her.

He called down to room service and ordered baguettes and a salad, in case she was hungry. He took a call from Emma, who'd already heard the news from the set and was predictably freaking out. He reassured her that Bess was fine, just cold, and promised to call her back once she was out of the shower.

He changed quickly into dry clothes, then searched for something Bess could wear. He didn't think she'd be comfortable in her wet, sandy clothes from the beach. All his pants would be far too long on her, but he thought the boxers might be okay, and maybe a t-shirt. It would be more like a nightie on her, but at least she'd be covered up.

It wasn't until room service knocked on the door that he realised how long Bess had been in the shower. He quickly tipped the waiter and pulled the trolley into the room, before crossing to the bathroom door. The shower was still running.

'Bess?' he called, knocking sharply on the door. 'Bess, are you alright?'

No answer.

'Bess? Answer me!'

No reply.

'If you don't answer I'm coming in' he shouted.

Still nothing. He opened the bathroom door a crack, letting out a cloud of steam.

The glass shower screen was fogged up, but he could see Bess slumped on the floor of the shower. He yanked the glass open door and reached over her to shut off the water. She was curled on her side. With the sound of the shower gone, her sobs echoed loudly off the tiled walls. Her cheek was pressed to the floor and hair covered her face. The white scars on her back stood out in contrast to her pink skin.

He grabbed a towel and dropped it over her nakedness, then followed it with a towelling robe. She continued to weep, seemingly unaware of his actions.

'Oh Bess', he said, 'don't cry'. He scooped her off the floor, wrapping the robe more fully around her as he lifted her. Her limpness alarmed him.

He carried her to the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. He went back for another towel, which he wrapped around her wet hair. He didn't know what to do. Her skin felt warmer to the touch, but she was still shaking. He'd never heard anyone cry like this.

He wrapped the duvet tightly around her, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Reluctantly, he lay down next to her and pulled her against him, duvet and all. She buried her face in his chest and wept.

She cried for a long time, or so it seemed to Will. He shushed her, and held her, rocking her gently like a small child. Eventually, the sobs subsided into sniffs. 'Bess?' he ventured. 'Are you okay?' _What a stupid thing to say._ She was clearly very far from okay.

'Why can't people look after their own fucking children?' she burst out, accompanied by a fresh burst of sobbing.

'Bess?'

'I can't do this anymore. I don't want to die', she wailed.

'Oh, my poor girl', he whispered, kissing the top of her head. 'You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you'. It was a singularly inane promise, but it seemed to comfort her a little, so he repeated it over and over, until her sobs quietened, her breathing evened out, and she slept.

* * *

Bess was warm. She'd been so cold before, but now she was toasty. She rolled over, seeking the source of the heat, and came up against a large, male chest.

She recoiled and sat straight up in bed with a squeak, pulling the doona to her chest.

'What the heck?'

Will opened his eyes and sat up too. He rubbed his hair, making it stick straight up in a way that would have been adorable if she wasn't so freaked out.

'Bess, are you alright?'

'What am I doing in your bed?'

'Bess, it's okay' he said, reaching out a hand to her.

She recoiled and jumped out of bed. 'Why am I wearing your clothes?', she shrieked, looking down at the too-big t-shirt and boxers on her body.

'Bess, calm down and let me explain', he said more firmly.

She ignored him, running to the window and pulling back the curtain. Daylight streamed into the room. 'What time is it?' she asked, breathing faster.

He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the light and squinted down at his watch.

'Just gone eight'.

'In the morning?'. He nodded. 'Aaargh, I'm supposed to catch the train from Rennes in half an hour. I start work tomorrow. Where are my clothes? Where's my phone?'

'It's on charge over by the desk'.

She ran over to her phone and snatched it up. 'Oh no, I've got seventeen missed calls. I have to ring Angus, and Emma, and ….'

'Bess!' Will almost yelled. 'Please stop running around like a headless chicken for one minute and let me _explain_ '.

'Okay, okay', said Bess, perching suspiciously on the edge of the bed and crossing her arms across her chest. 'You have one minute. Explain'.

'You don't need to worry about missing the train. I've organised a flight for you this afternoon'.

'But I have to call Angus and the others. They'll be worrying about me…'

He held up a hand to stop her. 'I've already to spoken to Angus. He rang last night and I answered your phone. Your friends know you're safe with me'.

'But what about my luggage? I can't catch a plane like this'.

'Your friends packed up your gear and I sent a crew member over to pick it up. Look, it's over there, in the corner'.

Bess looked and saw her well-worn backpack leaning against the wall.

'Okay, thanks, I guess. But why am I wearing your clothes?' She narrowed her eyes.

'I didn't want to leave you wrapped in wet towels all night. I was worried you'd get sick. I thought about waking you, but you were so exhausted. I promise I didn't look when I got you changed'.

'So why were you in bed with me?'

'I tried to sleep on the sofa but I'm a big guy, and it caught me in all the wrong places. Look, I wrapped myself in a separate blanket' – he indicated the red blanket around his waist – 'and you were bundled up in the duvet. It's a king bed, I thought it would be okay'.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry if I did the wrong thing, Bess. I did wonder about getting a separate room, but to be honest, I was afraid to leave you. Don't you remember anything about last night?'

She searched her memory. She was a bit hazy on how they'd got to the hotel, but she remembered lying on the floor of the shower, cheek pressed to the tiles, weeping. Crying so hard, not just because she and the kid could have drowned, but crying for her mother, for her father, for the accident, crying for all the times she'd had to stay strong and pick herself up again. Feeling this time, she had nothing left, no energy to get back up. Better to lie there and let everything wash away down the drain.

Her cheeks warmed, and she covered her face with her hands. 'I was hysterical, wasn't I?' she asked between her fingers.

'Not hysterical', said Will gently, 'just at the end of your tether'.

She looked up at that. Did he understand her so well? 'And you looked after me'. How long had it been since anyone had held her, comforted her like that? Not since before her mum got sick, and that was years ago.

'It was my privilege', he said simply.

* * *

They had breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Bess found her appetite surprisingly good, probably because she had missed dinner. She enjoyed her fruit salad, yoghurt and croissant while Will worked his way through a full English breakfast.

Bess called Emma while Will finished eating.

'Bess, is that you? Are you okay? Where are you?'

'Emma, I'm fine, please calm down. I'm in Saint Malo with Will'.

'I've been so worried about you'.

Bess nodded her thanks to the waiter who was clearing her plate, then returned her attention to the call.

'But Will said you spoke with him last night, and he told you I was okay'.

'Yes, but I wanted to talk to you. Bess, I heard that you had to fight through raging surf in a storm to save a kid, that you both nearly drowned or froze to death, and that you would have if Will hadn't rescued you'.

'Emma, you know how much film people exaggerate. A kid got a bit out of his depth on his pool toy. I swam out to him with a life ring. Will found a boat and brought us back to shore again. I'm fine. Everyone's _fine_.'

Emma harrumphed. 'I want to talk to Will again'.

'Sure, I'll put him on'. Rolling her eyes, Bess handed Will the phone and headed to the bar to get another coffee.

Will had hung up by the time she got back. He started at her intently.

'What is it? Do I have something on my face?' she asked, wiping around her mouth.

'So that's how you do it', he replied cryptically as she sat down.

'Do what?'

'Minimise what happened to you. Deflect attention. Convince everyone you're okay'.

'Everything I said to Emma was true', said Bess defensively. She sipped her coffee, avoiding his gaze.

He lent over the table and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. 'Bess, I was _there_. You might have told Emma the bare facts, but that wasn't how it _felt_. You could have died. That kid could have died.'

'Do you think I don't know that?', she asked angrily, pulling her head away from his hand. 'I'm not an idiot. You want the truth? The truth is, I didn't want to swim out there and save that kid, okay? I was terrified'.

'But you did it anyway'.

She shook her head in frustration. She'd thought he understood. 'If the kid had drowned, and I'd been one of the people standing on the beach like a bunch of stunned mullets…'

'A bunch of what?'

She waved the question away. 'If I was a bystander, I'd be shocked, maybe for a few days, but then I'd get on with my life. If anyone else could have swum out, I would have let them do it. Because I was the only one who knew how, it was all on me. It would have been my fault if the kid died'.

'Bess, that's not right. If it was anyone's fault, it was the kid's parents for letting him get washed out to sea'.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried a different tack. 'Will, how did you feel when you were looking for a boat yesterday?'

Now it was his turn to stare into his coffee. 'Panicked', he finally admitted. 'Desperate. Willing to do anything for a boat'.

'And if you hadn't found one? Or you hadn't made it in time?'

He paused. 'Then I never would have forgiven myself', he admitted finally.

She leaned back, satisfied. 'See, you do understand. So next time there's a situation with a kid, someone else can be the hero. I wasn't lying last night when I said I can't do this anymore'.

'But Bess, surely there won't be a next time. What are the odds?'

'What were the odds of it happening twice?' she asked sadly. 'I'm starting to feel like that guy who got hit by lightning seven times'.

'Someone got hit by lightning seven times?' asked Will, momentarily diverted.

Bess shrugged. 'It's in the Guinness Book of Records'. Suddenly, she laughed. 'Listen to me maundering on, after I said I didn't want a fuss'.

She looked out the window at the cloudless blue sky. 'It looks lovely out, and the tour only stopped in Saint Malo for an hour yesterday. Do I have time for some more exploring before my flight?'

Will signalled for the bill. 'We've got a few hours. I'll come with you'.

* * *

So they walked along the parapets on top of the walls surrounding the old stone town, overlooking the bay. The storm had blown itself out in the night, and the sky was a brilliant blue, with barely a puff of wind. Bess admired the architecture and watched the old men playing petanque, while Will watched her.

She was more tanned after a month's travelling, her skin glowing with health. The blond streaks in her hair had lightened, and as usual, wisps were escaping from her messy bun. Her simple knee-length summer dress concealed the cut on her thigh, and only the slight dark shadows under her eyes gave any indication of her recent ordeal.

Her mood had changed from breakfast, and she seemed determined to extract every morsel of enjoyment from the last day of her holiday. She dragged Will from bookstore to boulangerie to cathedral, stopping occasionally to breathe in the salty sea air. She made no move to walk out onto the beach, and Will didn't suggest it.

All too soon, it was time to head to the airport. A car from the hotel picked them up for the short drive.

Bess tugged on his shirt sleeve as they drove past the terminal.

'Will, I can't read much French, but I'm pretty sure that was the turn off for the airport'.

'Don't worry', he said, keeping his tone neutral. 'We're not departing from the terminal.'

'We're not?' asked Bess. 'That's weird'.

The car pulled up at a checkpoint in the perimeter fence. Their driver spoke briefly in French with the guard, who opened the boom gate and waved them through.

'Will, what is going on?' she asked suspiciously. 'What have you done?'

He fought to keep the smile off his face. 'Booked you a flight. Just as I said'.

The car drove onto the tarmac and pulled up next to a Bombardier Learjet. The steps had been let down and the pilot was waiting to welcome them.

Bess' jaw dropped. 'Will – do you own a private plane?'

'Of course not. I'm not _that_ rich. I just borrowed one from a friend'.

'You borrowed a private plane. From a friend. To take me back to London', she repeated slowly.

He laughed and took her elbow as the driver opened the car door. 'Come on, they're waiting for us'.

Bess' astonishment did not lessen once they were on board.

'Will, this whole cabin is covered in cream leather', she whispered, running her hand along the inside wall. 'Look, not just the seats, the walls too'.

'It's probably pleather' he told her, sitting down in his seat. Unfortunately the plane only had single seats, even if they were oversized recliners, so he had to be content with sitting across the aisle from her.

She snorted. 'Pleather, leather, who cares! Oh my goodness, is that an ice bucket?'

He lifted the bottle from the container next to his armrest and held it out to her. 'I hope you like Moet?'

It was her turn to laugh. 'Oh Will, I've never tried it, but I'm sure I'll love it'. She bounced up and down in her seat like an excited child. 'I cannot believe I'm on a private plane'.

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep, head leaning against the pleather wall, mouth slightly open. Every now and then she made an adorable snuffling sound.

Will regarded her ruefully. It would have been nice if she'd stayed awake a bit longer, but she had to be exhausted. And really, her reaction to his little surprise had been everything he'd hoped for, and more.

She stirred just as they touched down at London City airport. Looking out the window, she slapped her forehead with her palm.

'Oh no, please don't tell me that I slept through the whole flight'.

'Okay, I won't tell you that you slept through the whole flight', he deadpanned.

She stuck her tongue out at him. 'I'm such an idiot. Normally I count it a blessing that I can sleep on any train, plane or bus, but you'd think I could stay awake for a short hop across the channel. The only private jet ride I'll ever take, and I slept through it. After you'd gone to so much trouble organising it, too'.

'Don't worry about it', he said, leaning over her to pick up her day back. He hoped she would take many more flights with him, but now wasn't the time to say so. 'Let's get you home. You're tired, and you have a big day tomorrow'.

Bess groaned. 'Don't remind me'.

The car drove them straight past his Canary Wharf apartment building on the way to Bess' bedsit in Peckham, but he didn't consider stopping. He wanted, needed to see her safely to her door.

They crossed the Thames at Tower Bridge. As they drew closer to Bess' place, Will's thoughts churned. He could have lost her yesterday, and not counting their terrible fight, he'd never told her how he felt. He longed to hold her again, when she wasn't distressed, but he didn't want to be like Wickham, kissing an unwilling girl up against a door.

He'd held back during her year of study, partly through circumstance, and partly because he understood she needed a year to just be. Surely he'd waited long enough? Then again, she'd been through a terrible twenty-four hours, and the poor girl had to start a new job in the morning. Was it a dick move to lay anything else on her now? Or was he just afraid of rejection? He was starting to think there would never be a good time to make his move.

Round and round his thoughts went, like a rat in a cage. He snuck a glance at Bess, who was leaning forward to give the driver directions to her place. Maybe he could discreetly text Emma and ask for advice? No, that would be disrespectful to Bess. Instead, he tried to imagine what Emma would say to him if she were in the car. _If you don't know what she wants, just ask her, you dummy_. Of course! He could almost hear Emma's voice, her rounded vowels and clipped consonants, chiding him. He would simply ask Bess what she wanted!

His palms were sweating as he followed Bess up the stairs of the converted Victorian terrace. It smelt of must and wet wool. She stopped on the top landing. Night was falling, and the stairwell was lit by a single dim bulb. There was no one else around. Bess rummaged in her day pack for her key, while Will placed her backpack next to her door.

She found her key and looked up. 'Would you like to come in?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'I can't, I'm afraid. I have to get back to the airport'.

'You're flying back to France tonight?', she asked, astonished.

He nodded. 'We're filming in the morning. I've got a five am call'.

'You arranged for a private jet, flew all the way here, just to see me home?'

He nodded again. _Damn, had he completely lost the power of speech?_

'Will, I don' know what to say'. She placed her hand on his forearm. His muscles leapt under her touch. 'No-one has ever looked out for me like that'.

This was his opening. He prayed he wouldn't stuff it up again.

Gently, he took her hands in his and looked down at her beloved face.

'There's so much more I wish I could do for you. You deserve to be cherished, taken care of'.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

'Bess, I care about you. Deeply. I know you've had a terrible weekend, so please feel free to say no, but I really want to kiss you right now'.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a second he feared she was about to reject him again. Then her mouth quirked up in a small smile, and she nodded.

Hardly daring to believe it, he moved his hands to her shoulders and drew her gently towards him. She came willingly. Bending his head, he touched his lips to hers. They were soft, so soft and warm. Unable to resist, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. She tasted of champagne and peppermint lip gloss.

Her mouth opened for him, and she put her arms around his waist, pulling him hard against her. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and her stomach met the hardness in his groin. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and deepened the kiss.

Minutes later, a fanfare on the horn from the driver in the street below brought him crashing back to reality. He found, to his embarrassment, that he'd backed Bess against the door and was grinding into her as they kissed. Shaken, he released her and took a step back, breathing hard.

'Bess, I'm sorry. That got out of control fast. Are you okay?'

Her hair was mussed, her lips a little red and swollen, but he was relieved to see that she was smiling at him, her eyes twinkling. 'Am I okay? Will, I know I've had a rough weekend, but right at this moment I feel amazing'.

He hadn't fucked it up! Elated, he reached for her again. With exquisitely bad timing, the driver gave a few more blasts on his horn.

'Damn it to hell, I really have to go.'

'It's okay Will. I understand.'

He lent in for one more quick kiss, before starting down the stairs. 'I'll ring you tomorrow' he called back over his shoulder, 'and see how your first day went'.

She lent over the banister. 'Will, you don't even have my phone number'.

He ran back up and handed her his phone, watching intently as she typed in her details. Absurdly, he felt like a medieval knight receiving a token of affection from his lady. He had her number! He could call her anytime!

'Here you go', she said, handing back the phone and accompanying it with a quick kiss.

I don't want to leave you', he admitted.

'And I don't want you to. But you have to. Go'. She pushed playfully at his chest. He turned and ran once more down the stairs, his feet barely touching the ground.


End file.
